Plum Justified
by MsBrooklyn
Summary: Trenton, NJ's favorite bounty hunter meets Kentucky's favorite US Marshal.  Hunting fugitives may never be the same.
1. Chapter 1

Plum Justified

By MsBrooklyn

I don't own a thing. Not any of Janet Evanovich's characters (Stephanie Plum, Joe Morelli, Ranger and their supporting cast) nor any of Elmore Leonard's creations nor any of the creations that sprang forth from the creative minds behind Justified. The only creative thought I had was to smoosh these two worlds together. Hopefully, that's enough. By the way, this strange crossover between Janet Evanovich's Stephanie Plum series and Justified fits absolutely nowhere in either series' continuity.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

My feet were aching and there were bits of twigs and leaves in my hair. I was asking myself for the thousandth time how I let Vinnie talk me into this when I heard the sweetest sound in the world. A car was coming.

My name is Stephanie Plum and I'm no stranger to aching feet or stuff in my hair. I'm a bail enforcement agent, or a bounty hunter if you prefer, and these things happen when I do my job. Normally, I do my job in the Chambersburg section of Trenton, New Jersey, where I live in a low-rent brick-faced apartment building that's not far from my parents' house. I'm average height with shoulder length curly brown hair and blue eyes and I used to be a lingerie buyer for a department store but it went bankrupt. Now I work for my cousin, Vinnie Plum, who runs a bail bonds business. I'm not the best bond enforcement agent in the world but I get the job done most of the time. My job was why I was hitch-hiking on a rural road in nowhere Kentucky.

Well, to be fair, that was part of the reason. Vinnie did somebody a favor that blew up in his face. At least, he said it was a favor. Probably, he owed his bookie and bonding out some FTA who jumped bail in Florida and lit out to Kentucky of all places was how he paid up.

The rest of the reason was that I was woefully behind on the rent for my low-rent apartment. Well, most of the rest of the reason.

Another part of the reason was that my on-again, off-again relationship with Joe Morelli was in an off-again phase. Joe's a plainclothes cop in Trenton. He's lean and muscular, with black hair that reaches the tops of his ears and the nape of his neck and who has chocolate brown eyes that have melted panties across Trenton for years. My panties were apparently fireproof because not only were we not speaking, we were not speaking about a half-assed proposal that I sort of didn't accept because I pretended not to hear it.

Don't get me wrong. Morelli is great most of the time, except when he tells me to quit my job and he brings up marriage, or worse, babies. I'm pretty sure I'd like to get married but less sure about the babies thing. At least I'm pretty sure sometimes. But when Morelli brings it up and starts talking about rings and moving in together, that's when I take a case that brings me to a place I would never go if I were in my right mind, like Kentucky. Not even Lula wanted to come with me, even though she informed me that fried chicken was invented here and she wanted me to bring her back some.

I jabbed out my thumb and to my surprise, a shiny black four door Lincoln slowed and then stopped. The power window slid down and the driver regarded me curiously from under the brim of a cowboy hat. "You look like you're having a bad day."

"It's not going too great," I agreed.

"Where are you headed?" He slid the hat back, giving me a better look at him. The cowboy was cute, with brown eyes and an easy smile. He even had all his teeth, which was a nice change of pace from some of the people I'd spoken to earlier.

"The nearest police station would be great."

He motioned for me to get in. "Fight with your boyfriend?"

"Not exactly."

The man shifted in his seat, brushing aside the jacket he was wearing to show me the badge clipped to his belt. "Maybe I can help. Deputy United States Marshal Raylan Givens."

Was it possible my luck was finally changing? "Stephanie Plum. I'm a bail enforcement agent."

Givens cut his eyes to me. "Takedown go sideways?"

"Kind of," I admitted.

He made a small noise, similar to the noises the people in Harlan made when I tried asking questions about my FTA's whereabouts earlier.

"What?"

"You're a long way from New York, Miss Plum."

"New Jersey," I corrected him. "Trenton. My boss bonded out some guy from Florida as a favor and the guy skipped. We traced him to Harlan and since he didn't seem that dangerous, I volunteered to go get him."

The marshal pulled the car over and stared at me. I knew that look. Morelli wore it a lot when he talked to me about my job. "Exactly who were you looking for?"

"A guy by the name of Dewey Crowe. Ever hear of him?"

Givens started to snicker, tried to control himself, lost, and burst out laughing. "Dewey Crowe? You couldn't apprehend _Dewey Crowe_?"

"My pepper spray was empty."

This caused a renewed burst of laughter.

Probably, it wasn't a good idea to mention that Crowe stole my car.

"He stole your car, huh?"

Crap.

Wiping his eyes, Givens pulled out his Blackberry. "What's the make and model? I'll put a BOLO out on it."

"A black Porsche Cayenne." I felt a wave of gratitude that Ranger insisted I take a RangeMan vehicle instead of the rusted-out Chevy Celebrity I was currently driving.

"Plate?"

"Uh... It has a Y in it."

He smirked.

"It's a company car!" My left eye started twitching. "I realize it'll be hard to find, what with all the luxury cars jamming up your busy highways but maybe you could try."

Givens shot me a serious look. "Was there a gun in your vehicle?"

"No, just my purse." And a box of TastyKake butterscotch Krimpets.

"And was your gun in your purse?" he asked, enunciating each word as if talking to a slow child.

"No," I answered in the same tone. "My gun is at home. In my cookie jar."

He stared at me like I was from another planet.

"You're a cop. You know it's illegal to take a gun across state lines without all the right paperwork."

"What about handcuffs? Did you bring those?"

"Of course I brought handcuffs. And a stun gun. And pepper spray-"

"Which was empty. Was your stun gun charged?"

My left eye started twitching again. "Maybe."

"Maybe," he repeated. Givens sighed and shot me a wry smile. "You figured you'd ask him all nice and he'd come with you?"

"Don't knock it. It works."

This earned another snort of laughter. He hit a number on speed-dial and put out an alert on my car.

As he ended the call, I remembered that I had no money or identification. "Uh, any chance I could borrow your phone?"

Givens started his car and handed the cell phone to me.

Bracing myself, I dialed Ranger's number. Ranger is the other man in my life. His real name is Ricardo Carlos Manoso and he works part time for Vinnie and part time for his own ventures, including RangeMan Security. He's dark-eyed, dark-skinned and dangerous. And he said he loves me. In his own way, whatever that means. The good news is that he doesn't want to marry me. When I told him I was coming down here, after he finished laughing, he insisted on giving me a RangeMan vehicle. We both knew that probably I was going to need another. I just hadn't expected it to be so soon.

"Babe."

"How'd you know this was me?"

"Kentucky area code and the tracker in your car just went dead. I'll arrange for a replacement vehicle."

"Can you arrange for a driver's license, a cell phone, a stun gun, handcuffs and some money, too?"

"Babe."

"It's a long story."

"It always is. You want me to send everything care of the Marshal's Service?"

"I guess.". I cut my eyes over to Givens who was obviously listening in but pretending he wasn't. "You have a location on the Cayenne?"

"Not yet." He hung up.

"He's going to send everything care of the Marshals Service. Is that okay with you?"

"I'm sure it'll save time." Givens flashed me an insincere smile. "Getting your statement may well be the highlight of my day."

His last few words were nearly drowned out by the fire engines screaming past, followed by a State Trooper's SUV We swung onto the highway behind the fire chief's SUV, which was bringing up the rear.

"We're going to take a little detour," Givens told me.

I had a bad feeling what we were going to find.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The firemen were spraying down the smoldering remains of the Cayenne when we pulled up. A State Trooper was watching the scene as if it were a particularly interesting reality show.

His face lit up when he saw Givens emerge from the Lincoln and then morphed into distaste when he took in my dust covered, disheveled appearance.

"Tom."

"Raylan."

They both stared at me but it was Givens who broke the silence. "I do believe we've found your car, Miss Plum."

"Guess you can cancel that BOLO," I suggested.

"You don't seem too surprised to find it blown all to hell," the marshal added.

"It happens."

His eyebrows rose. "Does it?"

"The cops in Trenton can tell you all about it. It's a thing," I shrugged.

"A thing?" Givens' voice went up an octave.

"Probably you should ask my boyfriend about it. He works Homicide in Trenton. He's not speaking to me at the moment but I'm sure he'll be happy to fill you in when he's done laughing his ass off."

"He'll think this is funny?" The State Trooper's mouth was hanging open. With his buzz cut and ears that stuck out, he bore an uncanny resemblance to Dopey.

"Oh, it's funny," Givens smirked. "She's a bounty hunter from New Jersey and she's here for Dewey Crowe."

"Dewey Crowe did this?" The Trooper ran a hand over his head. "Must've picked up a thing or two about explosives from Boyd Crowder."

That sobered Givens. "Great. Just what we need."

"Well, I could've told you it'd be trouble when you got Dewey into that halfway house. The man doesn't have enough sense to come in out of the rain and we both knew he wouldn't stay put."

"He has his uses, believe it or not."

"Well, then." The Trooper snorted and turned to me, his expression turning serious. "I suppose your warrant for Dewey was in your vehicle."

"Warrant?" I echoed. Connie hadn't mentioned needing a warrant.

"Bounty hunting is against the law in Kentucky unless you're from out of state and you've got a warrant."

Uh-oh.

"Probably your warrant was in your car," the Trooper suggested, kindly. "Probably it got burned to a crisp and you're just going to have to go request a new one."

"Sounds likely, Tom," Givens added, cutting his eyes to me. "Everything else was in the car."

"Gun, too?" Tom the Trooper asked.

"Naw," Givens chuckled, one good old boy to another, mocking the city slicker from Trenton. "Her gun's at home in her cookie jar."

"So she was just going to sweet-talk him into turning himself in? Dewey's stupid but still..."

They both looked at me and the looks implied that Dewey was a rocket scientist compared to me.

"The worst he ever did was poach a couple of alligators," I said. "It's not like he killed anybody."

Givens rubbed his eyes and fixed me with a weary stare. "Well, no, he didn't kill anybody but he impersonated a federal officer, boosted Oxy from the Dixie Mafia, fooled around with white supremacy and got himself mixed up in all kinds of shit."

"Dixie Mafia?". We had the real mob back in the Burg. I couldn't imagine what they had in Kentucky. Well, I could but it looked like Colonel Sanders holding an Uzi.

"That's right and they're still not happy about a busload of Oxy going missing," Givens said. "You're not the only one looking for Dewey Crowe."

I cut my eyes over at the charred remains of the Cayenne.

"You might want to head back to Jersey," Tom the Trooper suggested. "Deal with a safer bunch of bail jumpers."

Now I was insulted. I made a dismissive hand gesture at the burnt out Cayenne. "This? This is nothing. I've brought in senior citizens who are more dangerous."

"Really." Givens' voice dripped sarcasm.

"Really. We have a sixty-four year old urban taxidermist who bombed a cable tv truck on account of the repair person never showed up."

Both men stared at me but it was Tom the Trooper who spoke first. "What's an urban taxidermist?"

I shuddered, remembering. "He stuffed roadkill. You know, like squirrels and beavers. He motorized some of them so they would move. They looked like little furry Frankensteins with tire tracks on their heads." I shuddered again. "And then there were the ones with the explosives. Those were nasty. Squirrel parts everywhere."

"I've never been to New Jersey," Tom the Trooper told Givens. "And right now, I'm real glad about that."

"I don't suppose you'd like to take her statement." Givens looked hopeful.

"Finders keepers, Raylan. She's all yours."

Somewhere, Morelli was laughing his ass off.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"I'm well acquainted with Dewey Crowe," Givens told me as he tapped his keyboard and looked at his computer screen. "I'd have known if he had an outstanding FTA. Do you recall the arrest date?"

We were sitting at Givens' desk, which was in an open-style cubicle. The U.S. Marshals office was in the federal courthouse, an official looking building in downtown Lexington. We'd gone straight to Givens' desk, right past two other marshals and not stopping to speak to the guy in the big office at the back who I guessed was Givens' boss. They looked at me with undisguised curiosity and knowing smirks which gave me the idea that Givens was the kind of guy who usually had some 'splaining to do.

"About fifteen months ago. He was charged with shoplifting and indecent exposure," I said.

"Shoplifting _and_ indecent exposure? What'd he do? Try to steal a new pair of pants?" Givens grinned at me, already amused by the story.

Even I had to smile. It was quite a tale. "Underwear. For reasons neither of us wants to know, Dewey needed underwear and decided to shoplift them from a K-Mart. Store security caught him in his car, in the parking lot, changing into a pair of fresh tighty whiteys. He tried to flee on foot, minus both pants and underpants. There was a van full of old ladies from a nearby seniors' community out for their weekly trip to K-Mart. The sight of Dewey's doodle sent a couple of them into arrhythmia. Four others preserved the moment on their cell phone cameras. One posted about it on Facebook."

Givens burst into laughter and the activity in the office stopped as all eyes turned on him. His boss poked his head out of his office, gaping at the sight of his deputy nearly doubled over at his desk. I got the feeling it wasn't a usual occurrence.

"Everything okay, Raylan?" The man emerged from his office, his gaze going from Givens to me, and back again.

"Art, this is Stephanie Plum. She's a bounty hunter from New Jersey. Miss Plum, this is Chief Deputy Art Mullen. Tell him about Dewey's FTA."

I went over it again, this time for Chief Mullen and Givens' fellow Marshals, all of whom crowded around to hear. When I finished, they were all laughing.

"The FTA isn't in the system," Givens told his boss.

"I can have my office send over the paperwork," I offered.

Chief Mullen nodded. "It's probably a clerical error, got filed under the wrong docket number or something. When you get the paperwork, Raylan, contact the court and check it out. If the FTA is valid, consider it your case, too."

The smile on Givens' face vanished immediately. "But -"

"Seems to me you were asking to be taken off prisoner transport just this morning," the Chief drawled, confirming my suspicion that Givens wasn't a by-the-book type of marshal and hinting that prisoner transport was the equivalent of being assigned to clean the bathroom. "You want off of prisoner transport? Take the FTA and keep an eye on Miss Plum here, since she's not acquainted with the social intricacies of Harlan County. Otherwise, I've got a transfer to Cincy waiting on my desk for you."

Givens waited until his boss was out of earshot before muttering, "Shit."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When we left the courthouse, Hal was waiting outside and silently handed me the keys to a shiny black Ford Explorer. Hal works for Ranger and I didn't need to ask why he was here. Ranger sent him to keep an eye on me.

A big black shoulder bag rested on the front seat of the Explorer and contained a wallet with a new ID, a RangeMan credit card and two hundred dollars in cash, along with a new cell phone. It was identical to the shoulder bag I'd lost. Ranger and his men didn't miss a single detail.

Givens snatched the stun gun from the bag and whistled appreciatively. "Top of the line _and _fully charged."

I rolled my eyes and dug into the purse again, this time producing treasure. A fresh box of Tastykake Butterscotch Krimpets. It wasn't my mother's pineapple upside down cake but after the day I'd just had, it was going to be my salvation.

While I studied the box and tried not to drool, Givens continued to rummage in my bag. "Metal handcuffs, plastic handcuffs. Look at this, a _full _pepper spray."

I peered into the backseat of the Explorer and discovered a duffel bag containing two changes of clothes and my usual toiletries. All I needed now was someplace to take a shower and change.

A long arm reached past me to pull the can of hair spray from the duffel bag. "You heard about the hole in the ozone layer and global warming, right?"

"I'm from Jersey," I said, grabbing it from Givens' hand and zipping the bag shut before he could critique my underwear. "Big hair is mandatory."

Givens smirked.

I decided to wipe the smirk off his face. "So how come you've been stuck on prisoner transport?"

He ignored me, pointedly studying the Explorer. "If you have a thing with cars getting blown up, how is it your boss gives you brand new ones?"

"He thinks it's funny.". I didn't bother correcting his assumption that Ranger was my boss.

Givens shook his head. "Must be all those hairspray fumes."

"Are you planning on standing here mocking the state that gave you Bon Jovi and Frank Sinatra or do you actually intend to find Dewey sometime before Easter?" I asked.

"I was thinking that maybe you'd like to clean yourself up, make a slightly better impression with the locals.". His gaze slid over me and he reached over to pluck a leaf from my hair. "Just a suggestion, of course. Feel free to ignore me if I'm overstepping."

I rolled my eyes again. "You know any decent cheap motels in the area?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It turned out Givens lived in a cheap motel, the Mount-Aire, off of Route 421. Calling it decent would be generous. It was new sometime in the late sixties and it looked like the paint job, decor and bed linen hadn't changed since then. The color scheme was Depressing Faded Autumn, all washed out shades of red, brown, yellow and what once used to be white. I got a room a few doors down from Givens, had my shower, and was just doing the mascara thing when he rapped on my door.

I let him in and watched him visually sweep the room. Morelli did the same thing, that cop stare that noticed every detail. When he finished checking out the room, Givens focused his stare on me, going slowly up from my CAT boots, to my black cargo pants to the tight black T-shirt with the RangeMan logo on it. I did a final swipe of my mascara, fluffed my hair and started to reach for my bag when my cell phone rang.

It was Morelli.

His first words were, "Are you out of your mind?"

"I thought you weren't speaking to me."

"I'm not. Your cars are blowing up across state lines and I got a call from a U.S. Marshal -"

"I told him to call you."

"Cupcake, that's not the kind of call that gets me in a forgiving mood." There was a long pause. "You don't want to get involved with the Dixie Mafia. Despite the stupid name, they play rough."

"I plan on staying as far away from them as possible," I said.

"I called the State Troopers. Your SUV was blown up with C-4 and there was a trace of blood on the steering wheel. It looks like someone took your skip and I'll give you three guesses who. Let Deputy Givens handle it. Come back home and let's have make-up sex."

The offer of make-up sex was tempting. I felt a wave of heat start in my toes and spread upwards and if I weren't several states away, I'd have picked up meatball subs from Pino's and been on my way. And then I'd have gone after Dewey. He was my skip and more importantly, I was behind on my rent. "Tempting, but no."

"I hate your job.". Morelli sighed. "I'll talk to Terry Gilman and see if she knows anybody down there." He hung up.

Terry Gilman was slim and blonde and she dated Morelli all during high school. She married into the Trenton Mob and did a better job in organized crime than her dead husband ever did. I was convinced she still had her sights on Morelli and the mention of her name chased away all thoughts of make-up sex.

I stuffed the phone back into my bag and shook it, hoping the phone was buried deep under the handcuffs and pepper spray in case he called again. That way if I missed the call, I'd be able to truthfully say I couldn't find my phone in my bag.

"That was Morelli," I told Givens. "He said you spoke with him earlier."

"I guessed by the way you buried your phone in your bag. You feel like trying to send it to the center of the earth, I know a few deep mine shafts you can dump it into." Givens grinned at me. "Morelli seems like a nice guy. He was kind enough to let me enter the pool on how many cars of yours'll get blown up while you're here."

Mental head slap. "Why me?"

Givens went on. "He was real happy to hear I was working Dewey's case. It's not usual for marshals to work with bounty hunters and as a rule, I wouldn't but Art's right. It wouldn't be a good idea to let you poke around on your own. Especially since it looks like someone already grabbed Dewey and blew up your car."

"The Dixie Mafia?"

"That'd be my guess.". He ran a hand through his hair and slid his hat on. "Ready to take a ride up to Frankfort and start searchin' for Dewey?"

I grabbed my bag and lied through my teeth. "I'm ready."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

It was late afternoon when we arrived in Frankfort and we found ourselves stuck in the lamest excuse for a traffic jam I'd ever experienced. Route 676 was backed up in both directions but the volume of cars was equivalent to traffic at the Quaker Bridge Mall on a Saturday, and not even a Saturday with post-holiday sales.

"The state workers gettin' out for the day," Givens explained. "Also construction."

I rolled down my window and stuck my head out for a better look. Unlike Jersey, these drivers seemed to take the traffic in stride. Nobody was swearing or honking and there wasn't one obscene hand gesture to be found. "Maybe we should pull over and get some coffee 'til this lets up."

"Not a bad idea." He maneuvered the Lincoln across two lanes into the parking lot of a diner. "It should clear in about half an hour."

"Really?" Traffic jams in Jersey could take hours to clear, especially on the Garden State Parkway headed to Atlantic City in the summer.

"You're not in Jersey anymore, Dorothy."

We got a booth by the window, Givens sitting facing the door. Every few seconds, he scanned the diner, his gaze lingering now and then on a couple of customers. I glanced over at the customers he was focusing on but they looked like regular people to me. He caught me checking them out and smiled. "They're armed."

"I'm from the Burg. Everybody carries there."

"Except you." Givens chuckled.

"I don't like guns," I said.

The waitress brought our coffee and the chocolate doughnut I ordered. I sighed with pleasure as I took a bite. It wasn't as good as make-up sex with Morelli or a doughnut from Tasty Pastry in the Burg, but it was fresh and had just the right amount of grease.

"What's your background?" Givens asked, stirring his coffee. "Most bounty hunters I've come across are ex-military or law enforcement. The legit ones, anyway."

I finished my last bite of doughnut before answering. "I was a discount lingerie buyer for E.E. Martin and got laid off before they went bankrupt."

"Wasn't the C.E.O. convicted of racketeering?" Givens asked.

"That's the one."

"I drove him to prison in Atlanta." He smiled apparently pleased we had something sort of in common. "But I don't get how you went from unmentionables to apprehending FTAs."

"I needed money and I was either overqualified for every job or had no management experience. I was out of work for six months and I was desperate enough to take a job filing at my cousin's bail bonds office. Turned out the job was filled when I got there." I took a sip of coffee. "Connie, the office manager, told me I could make better money going after skips. All I had to do was convince Vinnie."

"That must have been a hell of an argument," Givens said.

I shrugged, like it was no big deal. "I knew how to convince him."

And I did. I knew the story about Vinnie and the perverted thing he did with that duck and I threatened to tell his wife, Lucille. Lucille's father is Harry the Hammer and if he heard the duck story, the Hammer would come crashing down on Vinnie. Hard.

"What about you?" I asked. "How did you end up a marshal?"

Givens ran a hand through his hair and seemed to consider the question. His eyes did another scan of the diner before coming back to mine. "I dug coal for a while after high school, went to college, applied to the Marshals Service and I've been a lawman ever since."

He didn't like talking about himself. It figured.

We sat in silence after that, finishing our coffee. Finally, Givens signaled the waitress for the check and we each put down money.

"Ready to see the Dixie Mafia up close and personal?" he asked me.

No. "Sure."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The streets were practically deserted and it took us just a few minutes to reach the Capitol Plaza office building. It towered about the rest of the skyline and would have been impressive if it was in better shape. The exterior needed a good power wash. Givens parked the Town Car in front of the building and we got out. It took half a second for Givens to flash his badge at the security guard in the lobby to get us inside and waiting for the elevator.

"Let me do the talking," he said, following me into the elevator and pressing the button for the twenty-eighth floor, which was the top floor. We emerged into an expensively decorated office that appeared deserted for the day.

A knockout blonde wearing a tight black miniskirt and a low-cut red blouse emerged from one of the offices, offering a dazzling smile to Givens. She seemed more like a game show hostess than any kind of office worker, especially when she exclaimed, "Why hello, Marshal."

"Hello, Yvette." Givens tipped his hat to her and flashed her a charming aw-shucks smile of his own. It was the type of smile that could have charmed the lacy thong off of her if he followed it with something other than, "Might I have a word with Mister Arnett?"

The blonde pursed her lips in thought. "He really doesn't like to see anybody without an appointment, especially after business hours."

"I understand," Givens responded and his tone was so polite, so sincere, that his next words didn't seem at all threatening. But they were. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist."

Yvette considered his request for a moment. "I'll let him know you're here."

She disappeared back into the office and I was positive she put a little extra swivel in her hips for Givens' benefit. He glanced over at me and noticed the envious look on my face. His eyebrows quirked in a silent question.

"She's wearing seven hundred dollar Louboutin pumps," I whispered.

"And?"

Before I had to confess I was feeling like a trip to Macy's shoe department, Yvette returned, her seven hundred dollar heels clicking on the marble floor. "This way, please."

We followed her into the biggest office I'd ever seen. A minibar with expensive crystal glasses and a fancy Italian coffee maker was set up to the left and directly in front of us was the man himself, Emmitt Arnett. With his immaculately coiffed silver hair and mustache,he looked more like a businessman than any kind of mobster. The mobsters I knew wore cheap suits, shiny silk Armani ones, or Adidas track suits. Arnett was wearing something expensive, probably Zegna or Brioni.

Givens took a seat in one of the guest chairs, catching my eye in a silent instruction to follow suit.

"Deputy, how nice to see you again." Arnett glanced over at me, his gaze lingering on the RangeMan logo on my chest. Or maybe he was just checking out my boobs. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

"Do you recall my mentioning an oxy bus that went missing down in Harlan during our last conversation?" Givens asked. His tone was polite, conversational but there was an undercurrent of threat in that polite tone. "You may also recall that I strongly recommended the loss be written off. It seems someone chose to ignore that recommendation."

"I assure you I have no knowledge of any activity in that regard," Arnett replied.

"Of course you don't. Why would you be aware of a vehicle being blown to smithereens with C-4? Or the driver of that vehicle going missing? You're a legitimate businessman." Givens leaned forward and his gaze sharpened. I was glad it wasn't me on the other end of that stare. "I'd appreciate it if you'd spread the word that there will be no further actions taken or I'm going to bring all manner of hell down on the responsible party. Would you do that for me?"

Arnett's expression went cold and it was easy to see he wasn't just a businessman. HS expression scared the bejeezus out of me. "If I speak to them."

"Thank you," Givens said and it sounded sincere.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I held my breath until we stepped out into the lobby. "Ohmigod."

Givens raised an eyebrow. "I thought you were used to dealing with the mob, Jersey girl."

"That wasn't the mob. That was Satan in a five thousand dollar suit." I made the sign of the cross. "Mobsters have names like Benny the Roach Raguchi or Two Toes Garibaldi. They get their provolone at Giovichinni's and go to viewings at Stiva's. They don't have slutty secretaries and work in office buildings!"

"Welcome to Kentucky," he deadpanned and then his mouth dropped open. "My car!"

While we were upstairs subtly threatening the fanciest mob boss I'd ever seen, someone was busy stealing all four tires and all the lights from Givens' shiny black Town Car. Neon pink spray paint adorned every surface with colorful phrases such as "Fucking Pig" and "Cop Car."

He turned to me. "You think this counts towards the pool?"

At least he didn't call me a menace. Yet.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"Shit." Givens circled the car, surveying the damage and shaking his head in disbelief. "I just got this car."

I didn't say a word. I could have told him about the times my car had been graffitied with even more embarrassing words but I decided to let him have his moment of denial. The other stages of grief would kick in when he reported it to his insurance company and they raised his rates through the roof.

"Know what's gonna happen now?" he asked but I got the feeling he wasn't talking to me. "I'm gonna report this to Art and the next seized vehicle he lets me have is the rusted out Reliant that smells like puke and cat piss."

I winced at the description because it sounded a lot like the 1983 Chevy Celebrity I'd recently purchased for four hundred dollars.

"Shit," Givens repeated.

And then I realized what he said. The Town Car wasn't even his and his car insurance company would never know. The insurance bill was going to be footed by the taxpayers. My curiosity got me past that fact because I needed to know, "What happened to your last car?"

He shook his head ruefully. "What _didn't _happen to it? It got smashed up by some hit men and then shot into Swiss cheese in a gunfire exchange. If I hadn't've took a bullet myself, Art probably wouldn't've given me another Town Car."

I stared at him and digested what this revelation. Never mind that _he _got shot. His _car_ got demolished by _hit men_ and _shot_. And now he was driving the masculine equivalent of the Nova I once had that got spray-painted with words like "pussy." Givens was me, with a dick and a badge. A screw-up who got the job done but not without collateral damage along the way. I felt sympathy for him and an urge to help. "Does Art have to find out?"

Givens turned slowly to me. "It'd be kinda hard to hide the neon pink profanity in the courthouse parking lot."

"I could call Ranger," I offered. "He knows people who can replace the tires and the lights and probably fix the paint job. Probably Art would never know the difference. We'd use the Explorer for a day or so while your car gets sorted out and then you won't have to drive a piss-mobile."

He rubbed his chin, considering my offer. "Who's this Ranger person?"

I pointed to the logo on my chest and fibbed a little. "My boss. Let me call him and see if he knows anybody around here."

Givens surveyed the damage again and nodded, looking more hangdog than any man I'd ever seen and I'd seen plenty as a bounty hunter. Poor guy. I'd been there and done that. Many times. And I had the insurance bill and rusted out K-car to prove it.

I fished my cell phone from the depths of my shoulder bag and called Ranger.

He answered on the first ring. "Babe."

"I'm having a little car trouble," I told him and then explained what happened to Givens' car.

"I don't generally do favors for law enforcement," Ranger said. "I do this for you, you're going to owe me."

I knew exactly how he intended to collect and I sucked in a breath. "Okay."

"I'll call Hal and he'll come up to Frankfort with the Explorer and take care of the marshal's car."

"Thank you."

"You'll thank me when I collect." He hung up.

I shoved the phone back in my bag and fanned myself.

"Well?" Givens asked.

"I owe him." I'd owed Ranger before and his collection methods involved lots of orgasms. I didn't much mind owing Ranger. "Hal's on the way with the Explorer."

"I owe _you _one," Givens said and he looked genuinely grateful. "Thanks."

Before I could politely let him know my dance card was full, my cell phone rang again. By the time I dug it out of my bag, the call had gone to voice mail. It was my mother and her message was to call her back.

She picked up before the phone even rang. "Call Joseph. Your grandmother's been arrested."

I hung up and punched in Morelli's number.

He answered on the second ring, sounding pissed. "What?"

"Did you arrest my grandmother?"

"I'll call you back."

I shrugged at Givens, figuring he probably had days like this too. Probably his family drove him crazy with similar emergencies. Probably it wouldn't take too much convincing to get him to go back to the diner and order a slice of cake while we waited for Hal.

My phone rang and Morelli sounded even more pissed this time. "Carl Costanza arrested Edna. She set fire to a casket at Stiva's."

My left eye started to twitch.

"It was a closed casket ceremony for Frank Cavaliere and there was a candelabra on the casket. Edna tried to peek, knocked the candelabra over and the casket went up, nearly cremating Frank's remains. Costanza arrested her to get her out of there without a riot starting. He's taking her home now." Morelli sighed. "How's the manhunt with Wyatt Earp going?"

I told him about Givens' car. "He wants to know if it counts for the pool."

"You're a menace!" Morelli exclaimed. "Bad enough things like this happen to your cars but it's like some kind of car-wrecking virus that you're spreading. For God's sake, come home so nothing else happens to the poor man."

"Are you kidding? I think we might be related. His last car got scrunched by hit men and shot up in a gunfight."

Morelli sucked in a breath. "Dear God. There's _two _of you out there. I have to tell Gazzara. This changes the odds on the pool."

He hung up and I grinned. It was just desserts after his half-assed marriage proposal. And speaking of dessert, I was sure Givens needed cake as badly as I did.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As it turned out, Givens was an ice cream guy. Initially, he suggested a beer while we waited but we had a long drive back to Lexington and I really wanted cake. There was a Friendly's a few blocks away and we drowned our sorrows with sugar, calories, carbs and fat. Hal showed up sometime after our second refill of coffee and we hit the road feeling good from our combined sugar highs and the knowledge Givens didn't have to drive a piss-mobile.

My sugar high wore off somewhere along the way because the next thing I knew, Givens was shaking me awake to let me know we were back at the motel. I climbed out of the Explorer, yawning and wiping drool from my chin.

He looked down at me with something that resembled affection. "Get a good night's sleep. Tomorrow, we're turning Harlan County upside down to look for Dewey. Arnett's a good liar, hell, a _great_ liar, but I don't think the Dixie Mafia has Dewey. Yet. I'm thinking the Cayenne blew after Dewey got away. We're gonna work that hunch tomorrow, see what we can shake loose."

I was willing to follow his hunch. He knew these people like I knew the people in the Burg and I was a stranger on his turf. "Okay."

Givens smiled. "Good. I'm going to hold on to the car keys in case I get a call. Besides, all my gear is in the Explorer. Is that okay with you?"

"Sure." I'd gotten a good look at his gear - extra handcuffs and ammo, a nylon U.S. Marshals windbreaker, a bulletproof vest, night vision binoculars, and a scary looking pump action shotgun - when he transferred the contents of his trunk to the back of the Explorer. "Just don't sneak off without me."

"Would I do that?"

"Everyone does that."

"Not me. I've got money in that pool and those fuckers in Trenton just changed the odds on account of my car. They need to learn some respect for us Southerners," he drawled. "And maybe they need to learn to stop underestimating you."

"I think their estimations are pretty accurate," I admitted.

"You never worked with a U.S. Marshal before. I'm gonna teach you a few new tricks." He grinned down at me with a look that probably got loads of women before me into trouble. "I said I owed you one and I plan on paying you back."

Gulp.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

When I woke up with an aching back from the sagging lumpy mattress, the sun was just starting to rise. It made the faded yellow paint of the motel room look kind of pretty. I spent a few minutes lying there, psyching myself up for a return trip to Harlan County. My first trip had been a disaster. The state-of-the-art GPS in the Cayenne didn't have any of the addresses I tried to find and the locals were spectacularly unhelpful. If they even bothered taking to me, they told me to go to some holler or another. I had no idea what a holler was, other than my father bellowing at me to come inside for dinner when I was a kid. I was grateful Givens actually seemed familiar with the place. Maybe he knew what a holler was. He had the right accent, after all. And a hat.

It was a good feeling that we bonded over the vandalizing of his car. I'd felt out of my element since starting this case and it was nice to have someone on my side for a change. Except... Past experience taught me not to fully trust anyone in law enforcement who swore they were even partners. Specifically, Morelli but Givens was a cop too. He got distrust by association.

I delayed giving in to my doubts until I brushed my teeth and then I padded over to the window to peek out at the parking lot and see if my gut feeling was right. And it was. The Explorer was gone. "That sonofabitch!"

I grabbed my cell phone from the nightstand, unplugged the charger and punched in Givens' number, ready to give him a good piece of my mind punctuated with all the best curse words Jersey ever invented.

"Good morning," he greeted me cheerfully. "I'm just pulling into the parking lot. I've got coffee and doughnuts and the contents of Dewey's room from the halfway house."

I looked out the window and sure enough, there he was. It was like waking up in a parallel universe where someone wasn't trying to cut me out. I liked it. Looking at the clock on the night stand, I realized it was only a little after seven a.m. Givens had been up early and been productive while I was dreaming about eclairs from Tasty Pastry and calling him a traitorous son of a bitch.

"You decent?" he asked. "I could use a hand bringing everything in."

"Give me a sec." I hung up, hastily shoving a RangeMan ball cap over my hair, which was sticking out in all directions. I grabbed my room key and went out to meet my new best friend.

He handed me a cardboard coffee tray with three giant sized coffees and a shopping bag with a box of a dozen Krispy Kreme doughnuts. Grinning, he opened the back door and pulled a small carton from the Explorer. "C'mon. Coffee, doughnuts and free entertainment. Perfect way to start your day."

The door to Givens' room opened and I stared dumbly at a gorgeous blonde staring back at me. Unlike the plastic Yvette, this woman was wearing a minimum of makeup and her wavy dark blonde hair was salon perfect. She was dressed for work in a simple navy skirt and white blouse. In short, she was effortlessly beautiful. Her blue eyes swept over me and she didn't look happy to see me.

"Winona, this is Stephanie Plum," Givens brushed past us both and set the box down on the ugly industrial carpet in his room. "Stephanie's a bail enforcement agent I'm working with."

Winona's eyes narrowed slightly. "Since when do you work with bounty hunters? You always said -"

"Stephanie's a friend."

I cringed inwardly. No woman wanted to hear that some other woman was a friend. I attempted to mitigate the damage by saying, "His boss assigned him to help me."

"Raylan, where's your car?" Winona asked, peering past me into the parking lot.

Oh shit.

"In the shop. Stephanie's lettin' me use hers." Givens popped the lid on his coffee and took a sip, totally oblivious of the effect his words were having on Winona. Not only was I his friend, I was letting him use my car. No woman in her right mind would put up with that. In the Burg, that would get a man sentenced to weeks on the couch at a minimum and a cap busted in his ass at the most extreme. "I got those jelly doughnuts you like."

"Thanks," Winona and I said simultaneously.

Double oh shit.

"I'm from Jersey," I told Winona, giving her what I hoped was a reassuring, friendly smile. "Just here to pick up an FTA and then I'm gone."

"And Raylan's helping you." The smile she gave me wasn't friendly in the least.

She wanted attitude? I was from the Burg. I could do attitude in spades. I could attitude your ass off. "He's been very helpful. Why, he got me that room just a few doors down."

"Really? Hunh. Well, I've got to get to work." She stood up on tiptoe and gave Givens a deep, lingering kiss that was intended to mark her territory. Flashing me another phony smile, Winona grabbed both of the jelly doughnuts and sashayed out the door.

Bitch.

It was amazing that Givens could read the subtext in his conversation with Antichrist Arnett and conclude the Dixie Mafia didn't have Dewey but be completely unaware of the feminine pissing match that just occurred under his nose. He picked up the Boston Creme doughnut and bit into it. "Dewey didn't have much but I took anything that looked useful."

"Don't you need a warrant to do that?" I helped myself to a chocolate doughnut.

He shrugged. "Naw. He took off from the halfway house so the manager put his crap in this box. The guy was real happy to give it to me and get it off his hands."

I started to reach for another doughnut when I realized Givens _wasn't _oblivious. He couldn't be. Not after the way I'd seen him charm the panties off of Yvette while subtly threatening her and then playing verbal chicken with Arnett. Holy crap. "You sonofabitch! You wound her up on purpose!"

Busted, Givens gave me a sly grin that told me he was someone who preferred to be underestimated, like a country version of Columbo. God help you if Givens wanted to know one more thing.

"Why?" I demanded.

"Same reason you've been jerking Morelli's chain," he shrugged.

In other words, a jealous hissy fit and make-up sex.

"Does he know about Ranger?" Givens asked me.

No, Givens was anything _but_ oblivious. "It's known but not discussed. We're fighting about something else."

His gaze grew sharp as he studied my face, as if just by looking he could figure out everything about me. It proved I was right. The aw-shucks innocent country boy act was just that. There was a super-sleuth of Sherlockian proportions under that cowboy hat. "It's not just how much he hates your job, either, but related to it."

Jesus, he was good. "He proposed."

Givens snorted with laughter. "Not some romantic proposal, I gather. Marry me, quit your job and have lots of fat Italian babies."

"That was the gist," I confirmed. "The exact words were, _Why can't I have a normal girlfriend who just wants to get married instead of one who finds dead bodies in her closet? We should get married. Nobody stuffs dead bodies in cops' closets._"

"You found a dead body in your closet?"

I shrugged. "Twice. It beat finding a dead guy on my couch. I had to get rid of the couch because it had death cooties."

Givens made a dismissive noise. "I shot two gun thugs right here in this room. They cleaned those death cooties right out of the carpet."

My mouth dropped open and I made a few inarticulate noises before managing to ask, "You're kidding, right?"

He met my eyes with a look that was deadly serious. "Only about the death cooties. Maybe that's a Jersey thing but we ain't got death cooties in Kentucky."

Ohmigod. I crossed myself. Givens scared the crap out of me. Was this how I made Morelli feel? No wonder he wanted me to quit my job.

"Ready to snap on the latex and get down to it?" he asked, flashing me a huge smile.

I spit out my mouthful of coffee. "What?"

Givens snickered, pulled latex gloves from his jacket pocket and tossed a pair at me. "Don't wanna get Dewey cooties."

The man was a menace! My left eye started twitching.

He chuckled softly. "I think it's cute, you have a little crush on me."

"I do not!"

"You're blushing." His eyes were sparkling with a manic glint as they locked with mine. "Come on, Stephanie. It's all about making observations and using what you observe as leverage to get your subject to spill his secrets. You've got good instincts but that nice, Catholic girl upbringing is holding you back. Try it. You've figured out a few things about me. Use 'em and see if you can make me sweat."

That's when I realized the other reason he manipulated Winona into a jealous hissy fit. The make-up sex would be a bonus but he was giving me marshal lessons on how to identify and exploit weaknesses. The man was a genius. Maybe I did have a little crush on him. For his marshal skills. Well, also maybe because he wore really well-fitting jeans. Crap. He probably knew that and was wearing the jeans on purpose.

"You're a screw-up," I told him, voicing my earlier suspicions. Hey, he was the one who said not to hold back. "That's why you were stuck on prisoner transport and why your boss stuck you with me. You get the job done but not without making a huge mess along the way."

Givens looked hurt. "I'm not a screw-up."

"Prisoner transport?"

"I got shot."

Now I felt like the world's biggest horse's patoot for laying what everyone said about me on my new friend. "I'm sorry -"

"Catholic guilt, Plum. You had me and you didn't go for the kill." Givens clucked at me and shook his finger. "No questioning anybody in Harlan for you today. You'll have to stand there and look pretty while I do the heavy lifting."

"I should've let you get stuck with the piss-mobile!"

"And miss out on all my valuable training?" He flashed me another one of those flirty charm-the-panties-off-the-girls grins.

My left eye twitched again. "Stop that."

"Stephanie's got a crush on me," he sing-sponged. He winked at me. "Don't worry, I won't tell Morelli."

"I have a stun gun and it's fully charged," I told him.

"You got it on you? No? Damn shame, because I've got my service weapon right here." He patted his hip and grinned again. "Relax, Stephanie. I'll stop. It's too easy anyway. That'll have to be our next lesson. You wanna be a marshal, you're gonna have to toughen up some."

I blinked. "Who said anything about wanting to be a marshal?"

Givens unclipped the badge from his belt and attached it to the waistband of my jeans, turning me so I could see my reflection in the mirror over the dresser. "See how nice that looks? Much better than some bullshit corporate logo."

He was right. The big silver star looked a lot better than the RangeMan logo. For a moment, I savored the idea of hunting after fugitives like a cross between Dudley Do-Right and Tommy Lee Jones and then the grim reality crossed my mind.

I pulled the badge off and handed it back. "But people shoot at you!"

"People shoot at you, too. Might as well be able to shoot back legally. Besides," he bent down to whisper in my ear. "A marshal outranks some small town Trenton cop. Morelli'd never get on you to quit _that _job."

"I'm thirty," I protested.

"As long as you can pass the physical and written, you've got a shot." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a little plastic badge that said 'junior marshal'. "We usually give these to kids but you've earned yours."

I clipped my junior marshal badge to my jeans. "Does this mean I'm deputized?"

"Absolutely. Start searchin' through that box and wake me if you find anything useful." He sat down at the cafe table, leaned back in his chair and covered his eyes with his hat.

I'd just been had by a man who was as big a menace as I was.

I was going to get even.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

(Raylan's Interlude)

I was awake before Stephanie kicked my chair but I figured I owed her a moment of vindictive cattiness after teasing her so bad earlier. That turned out to be a mistake because she was wearing CAT boots and got the chair at the perfect angle to send me over on my ass. As I hit the unforgiving industrial carpet - hard - I decided Winona was right. It was time to look for a real place to live. Someplace with nice, soft carpets.

"Find anything?" I asked, lying on my back just long enough to give that Catholic guilt a little twinge.

"I had no idea there was such a thing as white supremacist porno magazines and I wish I still didn't." She shuddered and extended a hand to help me up. Yup, nice Catholic girl through and through. Except for the two boyfriends but that was none of my business anyway. If it was, I'd put my money on the guy who gave her brand new cars and didn't care if they got blown up. Hell, I'd date him myself for that.

I let her pull me to my feet, retrieved my hat and then righted the chair. "Anything useful?"

She made a face. "There were a couple of letters from his mother that completely eroded my faith in the American education system. Nothing incriminating, just that she was glad he was out of prison and that his dad was getting out soon, too. The Crowe family Christmas newsletter must be a real treat -"

"Hold up," I interrupted. "Lemme see that letter."

Stephanie handed me a letter that looked like it had been written by a six year old with a severe case of dyslexia and astigmatism. It took me three tries to translate the illiterate scrawl and verify that Dalton Crowe's stretch at Loxahatchee was coming to an end. Or had ended. Shit. Could I have a pair of Crowes to worry about?

"Good work," I praised Stephanie. She looked skeptical so I added, "Dalton Crowe was doin' time for low-level dealing in Florida. If he's out, he might've come up to visit his boy since it's been some years that they last laid eyes on each other. Why don't you shower and get changed while I start runnin' down the lead?"

The look on her face told me she didn't get a lot of praise or encouragement. Or help.

The thing was, I liked her. She had good instincts and more guts than she gave herself credit for. I wasn't kidding when I suggested she think about becoming a marshal. It would give that Morelli guy a kick in the nuts he sorely deserved. When I called to tell him Stephanie's Cayenne had been blown to kingdom come, Morelli didn't bother asking if she was okay. Instead he asked, _why me?_ and then launched into a long diatribe about what a menace she was. I'd been the subject of similar diatribes, a couple as recent as last week, and while I knew he was worried about her and probably loved her, the guy should have been a little more respectful.

"Go on now. You've got those seventeen coats of mascara to put on. I know that takes lots of time," I needled her. "Just try to wear somethin' less SWAT team than you had on yesterday, okay? You don't want to get a load of buckshot in your ass because you look like DEA."

"Exactly where are we going?" she asked. It was hard to tell what bothered her more, the mascara comment or concern about walking into a place where she could get shot at.

"Harlan," I told her. "You were there. Didn't you notice all the marijuana crops?"

Stephanie's eyes went wide so I guessed she didn't. Or maybe she just couldn't tell a marijuana plant from a rose bush being she was from Trenton. "I read on the Internet that it was a nice little coal mining town."

"The Internet is full of shit. Coal mining is seasonal and the pay sucks so people supplement their income growin' and dealin' weed and engagin' in other illegal activities. My grandfather preached on Sundays and cooked shine the rest of the week." I held off mentioning Arlo but I figured we'd run across him during our search for Dewey. Maybe I could pass him off as a distant relative or even a stranger instead of having to admit the shady bastard was my father.

"And I just wandered around there asking if people knew where Dewey lived." She smacked her forehead with the heel of her hand. "I'm such an idiot."

I couldn't argue if that was how she went about looking for Dewey. It was a wonder she made it out of Harlan in one piece. Or that she found Dewey at all. "How _did_ you find Dewey?"

"It was an accident. I needed gas so I pulled into a Kwik Mart off 421. I went in to pay and get a Kit Kat and there was Dewey. We scuffled, knocked over the magazine rack and he took off in my Cayenne." She drew a breath and went on. "Dewey left his car so I took that and went after him. The muffler fell off and then the engine started smoking so I pulled over and that's when I fell down into that ditch."

I had no call to be snarky that she found Dewey through sheer dumb luck. It happened to me on more than one occasion and I'd lost more than my share of fugitives on the first try. But only the first try. I got them all in the end. Still... "You really went around and asked people if they knew where he lived?"

She nodded. "His address didn't come up in my GPS so I figured someone could give me directions."

Most addresses in Harlan didn't come up in GPS. But there was something more important that I wanted to explore. "What address?"

"It's in my file, some weird street name. I think it's probably fake."

I didn't. "Where'd you get it?"

Stephanie was looking at me closely, taking my lesson seriously about picking up subtle clues to use later. "A search program that Ranger uses. Dewey had a credit card issued to that address. I guess he's moved on to credit card fraud."

I couldn't imagine which bank would be foolish enough to give Dewey Crowe a credit card in this economy with his background. What I could imagine was that Ranger's search program wasn't strictly legal. "Did Ranger give you those search results with all the other stuff he replaced?"

"I'll bring it by after I'm done with my seventeen coats of mascara," she said.

Smart girl. I was proud of her, safeguarding her information in case I planned to take off but I had no intention of leaving my junior marshal behind. Might break her heart, what with her cute li'l crush on me and all. "I'll be here."

We were going to make Morelli eat his words and I planned on winning that damn pool, too.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I just parked the Explorer when the door to Stephanie's room flew open and she came at me, eyes flashing and mouth opening to call me every name in the book. I headed that off by saying, "Wait 'til you see all the information I got for us."

Those blue eyes narrowed at me. "You broke into my room while I was showering and stole my file."

"I loved that Aerosmith song you were singin'." It wasn't nice to tease and calling it singing was being generous but I eased the blow by holding out her file and the one with my research. Then I pulled the bribe out of my coat pocket, a Kit Kat that I bought when I filled up the Explorer's tank. "Road snack. There's fresh coffee in the truck. You ready or do you need a couple more coats of mascara?"

"Let me get my bag." She turned and went back into her room, no doubt wondering if I was playing her somehow. I was. I knew she was gonna be pissed I took her file but I saved us an hour doing the research while she got ready. That would occur to her before she left her room and she would come back suspicious but not angry. How could she? I bought her a Kit Kat.

The huge leather bag was slung over her shoulder and I got a good look at her outfit. It was the exact opposite of what she had on yesterday, except for the CAT boots. The jeans hugged her perfectly and she was wearing some kind of red stretchy top with a V-neck that I knew was gonna distract anybody I tried to question. If Winona got an eyeful of that outfit, it might be a couple of days before I got anywhere near make-up sex.

There was a suspicious bulge in the right pocket of the black nylon windbreaker she was wearing. "You carryin'?"

"Concealed Krimpets." She pulled out a shrink-wrapped package. "Ever try a TastyKake Butterscotch Krimpet?"

"Can't say I have," I admitted.

"Amateur." With that she climbed into the truck and no, I did not look at her ass. Okay, I might've peeked but only to double check she didn't have a gun tucked into the waistband of those jeans and never mind that was probably impossible.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"You did all this in an hour?" Stephanie asked, flipping through the file.

"Amazin' what you can do with a badge and years of experience, huh?" I didn't tell her I also ran her name and found an impressive number of police reports involving dead bodies, explosions, fires and all of the above in connection with the destruction of Stephanie's cars. There wasn't time to read all the reports but I saw one about a Porsche, a garbage truck and an explosion that gave a little weight to Morelli's point of view. I had my Stephanie file tucked in the back under my extra boxes of shells to read later. "Tell me where we're startin'."

"Any chance we can find that address?" she asked.

"I know where it is." More importantly, I knew who lived there. Clay Sims was a couple of years younger than me and had a rap sheet half a mile long. It was mostly bullshit stuff, DUIs and burglaries, but the important thing was that his most recent stretch overlapped with Dewey's.

"So they're roommates," Stephanie concluded when I filled her in.

"And prob'ly up to no good. I asked Tom Bergen to keep his eyes peeled for Dewey's daddy. I've a suspicion he's somewhere about, too."

She settled back in her seat and I could feel her staring at me. "How come you know where it is? Even Ranger couldn't find it and he's got all kinds of search programs. Is there something special the marshals have?"

I grinned. "You could say that. The marshals have me. I grew up in Harlan."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

There are some rural parts of Jersey but they were nothing compared to Harlan County, Kentucky. As we drove we passed long stretches of absolutely nothing. The houses were old, most not in good repair, with rusting trucks parked out front. Harlan didn't have a poor part of town, I decided. The whole place was poor. No wonder people were turning to illegal means of making money.

I glanced over at Givens. He made it out of this place and got a decent job with good benefits. But like me, he lived close enough to home to visit and far enough that the family wouldn't visit him. It was weird how much we had in common.

Still, I couldn't imagine growing up in such a rural place. When I was a kid, I played with all the other neighborhood kids. Here, the nearest neighbor might as well have been on the moon. It made me wonder what kids in Harlan did for fun if they couldn't organize games of Ringolevio or walk to the corner candy store for ice cream.

We turned off the highway and onto a rural road that soon became a gravel driveway leading to a decrepit two story colonial that was once white but was so faded it was almost gray. A battered pick-up truck in shades of rust and baby blue was parked next to the house and blocked in by a shiny new black Mercedes GLK.

Givens went still beside me, reminding me of those nature shows I'd seen where the cobra got ready to stalk its prey. He cut the engine and stepped silently from the Explorer, moving in slowly towards the house and motioning for me to follow. I wanted to stay in the car, where it was safe. What was I thinking, following him here? He motioned again, impatient this time, and I got out of the car, crossing myself as I went.

His approach was slow, calm and calculated and I saw him noticing the curtains were drawn on the front windows without breaking his stride. Any other cop I knew would have had his gun drawn, but Givens just kept his hand near his hip. Either he was the fastest draw in the West or this was how he got shot the last time.

Suddenly, a high pitched scream erupted from inside the house. It was a horrible sound, like a small animal being tortured. Or Clay Sims being tortured by a fancy mobster from the Dixie Mafia. If I were with Lula, this would have been the time where we turned tail and ran for our lives. Unfortunately, I was with a U.S. Marshal and it looked like he was going in.

Givens kicked the door open before I could draw a breath and I heard him say in the calmest voice imaginable, "Put the stun gun down."

And then I heard a voice from my nightmares saying, "Screw you."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I knew that voice. That voice tormented me in grade school and stole my boyfriends in high school. It belonged to Joyce Barnhardt. I came up next to Givens, who still hadn't drawn his gun, and narrowed my eyes at her. Joyce Barnhardt had ferociously fake red hair, artificially plumped lips, boobs that were at least two cup sizes beyond factory original and a series of ex-husbands, each of whom left her more wealthy than the one before. When we were in second grade, Joyce spit in my milk. In high school, Joyce took pictures in the girls locker room. And when I got married, she had sex with my husband before the ink on my wedding certificate was dry. Joyce was my archenemy and sometimes she worked as a bounty hunter.

"Ma'am," Givens said in that same patient tone, "I'm a U.S. Marshal and I'm telling you to put the stun gun down. Stephanie, check on Mister Sims."

"Stephanie Plum," Joyce sneered. "Couldn't handle the job as usual so you suckered some poor moron with a badge to help you."

I glanced over at the poor moron and he was wearing his harmless country boy look. Joyce had no idea what she was dealing with and I secretly hoped Givens shot her. "Joyce, you might want to do what he says."

"Bitch."

"Slut."

"Skank."

"Whore."

"Cunt."

I drew the line at being called a cunt and pulled out my pepper spray, completely forgetting my partner was there.

"Stephanie," Givens said. "I gave you an order."

"Go near Sims and I'll give you the same voltage he got," Joyce warned me.

"Ma'am, I deputized Stephanie under Section thirty-nine b of the U.S. Marshals Act. You zap her with that thing and you're lookin' at federal time." Givens wasn't looking so harmless anymore. In fact, he looked almost feral. That look scared the crap out of me.

It must have scared Joyce too because she dropped the stun gun.

Before I could blink, Givens was cuffing her with one hand and calling his friend Tom the State Trooper with the other. "Stephanie, is Mister Sims breathin'?"

I kneeled next to Sims, careful to avoid the big puddle of pee that was drying on the threadbare carpet. His eyelids were fluttering and he was starting to make noises. "Yeah. He's coming around."

"I'm a bail enforcement agent," Joyce protested as Givens pulled a nine-millimeter Glock out of her waistband. "Tell him, Stephanie."

"I've never seen her before in my life," I lied.

Givens chuckled. "You're a bounty hunter, huh? Who're you lookin' for, Joyce?"

"Dewey Crowe." She shot a shit-eating grin in my direction and her plumped up lips made it into a frightening grimace. "Vinnie sent me when you couldn't bag the yokel in less than a day."

"You got a warrant for him?" Givens asked.

"Why would I need a warrant, dumbass?" Joyce demanded. "I'm a bounty hunter, not a cop."

I knew what was coming and I decided that I didn't have some little crush on Givens after all. It was a huge crush. Maybe if I got married and had a kid, I'd name it after him. Or maybe I'd just get a second hamster.

Givens emitted a weary sigh. He'd had enough of Joyce. "Ma'am, bounty hunting is illegal in Kentucky unless you got a warrant. I'm addin' that to the list of charges against you. You've assaulted this man in his home, threatened two federal officers and you're conductin' illegal bounty huntin'. That's some serious time, Joyce, and federal Super Max ain't no picnic, 'specially for a pretty gal like you."

I almost gagged and then I realized he was playing her. This was getting better by the second.

"Now," Givens put some extra twang into the word. "You might help yourself by tellin' me anythin' Mister Sims told you. I could put in a word with the AUSA, maybe only have you charged with threatenin' me since Stephanie here is just visitin'."

Forget the huge crush, I was in love. Rex was going to have a hamster buddy named Raylan.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Tom the Trooper was there in under thirty minutes and he didn't look happy to see Joyce or me. He greeted Givens warmly, said he didn't have any news about Dalton or Dewey Crowe and then he hustled a pissed-off Joyce off to the pokey. It wasn't even noon yet and I couldn't believe how much we'd accomplished. Ordinarily, this would be the point where I went home for a nap. Givens had other ideas and since we were on a roll, I was happy to follow his lead. Besides, I could nap in the car.

"Alright, Clay, time for us to talk." The look Givens was throwing at Sims was something new. It was a look that said _don't even try to bullshit me_. "You fed that bounty hunter a nice fairy tale but I ain't leavin' 'til you tell me the truth."

Sims was in his late thirties but looked like he was in his late forties. I'd read his rap sheet in Givens' file and Sims had been in an out of jail for decades. He smelled like pee and stale pot and his house was furnished with Salvation Army rejects that hadn't been dusted since the Clinton administration. Sims squirmed under Givens' stare and complained, "Aw, c'mon now, Raylan, you know how it is. Some crazy bitch busts in here, starts screamin' where's Dewey Crowe. I told her I didn't know no Dewey Crowe and she zapped me in the nuts with her stun gun."

That explained the high pitched scream.

Givens exhaled and it was a regretful sound. "You really wanna do this the hard way?"

I could almost see the tension rising between the two men and now I could smell the stink of sweat coming off of Sims. It was the kind of sweat from someone who was scared shitless and I didn't blame him. The look in Givens' eyes was angry now and there was the threat of real violence in them. It was different from the feral expression earlier but just as scary. Maybe even scarier. He didn't move, didn't even touch his gun. All he did was stare and that stare scared the crap out of me and I didn't even do anything.

"He asked could he use my address for mail. That's all," Sims whined. The stare scared the crap out of him, too. "Look around. I'm the only one livin' here."

"Stephanie, you heard the man. Go look."

I went into the kitchen and saw a disgusting pile of unwashed dishes in the sink. It was impossible to tell whether one person had been eating or more. The refrigerator held a six-pack of beer, some white bread and a jar of pickles. There was a stack of unopened mail on the counter, all addressed to Dewey Crowe. Several of the envelopes felt like they had credit cards in them.

I moved on to the bedroom and nearly gagged at the overwhelming smell of dookey. The bed was unmade and there was a mound of laundry in the corner. I risked a glance into the bathroom but didn't dare enter.

"Find anything?" Givens asked.

I showed him the stack of mail.

"Evidence of mail fraud," he announced. "We'll have to confiscate those. Clay, if you see Dewey, tell him his old pal Raylan Givens is lookin' for him."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Once we were back in the Explorer, I let out a breath. "Ohmigod."

Givens grinned at me. "Don't tell me you were scared."

"If you saw that bathroom you'd be scared too." I shuddered and knew he could tell it wasn't just the bathroom that scared me. "Now what?"

"I'm thinkin' lunch. All that marshal shit works up an appetite, you know?" He dropped the stack of Dewey mail in my lap. "Take a look through those and lemme know what you find. An' I wanna hear the story about you and that Joyce gal. I know it's a good one. If she hadn't of roughed up Sims, I mighta let you two fight it out."

I started to open an envelope and hesitated. "Is this legal?"

Givens glanced over at me. "What?"

"Opening Dewey's mail." How many times had I 'accidentally' found myself in possession of a skip's mail? How many lectures had I gotten from Morelli because of it? "It's a federal offense to tamper with someone's mail."

"No shit?" Givens snorted. "I'm a federal marshal, Stephanie. Go on and open it."

I tore the envelope open and heaved a sigh of relief. Junk mail from a credit card company. Nobody went to jail for tampering with junk mail, right?

"By the way, try not to make cow eyes at me in front of people I'm interrogatin'. I know you like me an' all, but -"

"I do _not _make cow eyes."

"Sure you do. I slapped those cuffs on Joyce and you looked like you were ready to hump my leg." He flashed me a knowing look and grinned.

I wanted to name a hamster after this?

"'Sides," Givens went on, "you got enough men in your life as it is. Also, I'm involved with Winona. Then there's the age difference. Not to mention I might be your boss. How come I'm not hearin' the sound of envelopes tearin'?"

I was saved from further humiliation by my cell phone

"Where's my skip?" Vinnie demanded.

"You're a dog turd," I shot back. "What were you thinking, sending Joyce here?"

"I was thinking how much money I'm going to be out because you can't find a friggin' shoplifter!" Vinnie snapped.

I smiled. This was going to be good. "Yeah? Well Joyce just got arrested. Now you have to bail _her _out."

Vinnie made a bunch of noises and hung up on me.

I stuffed the phone back in my bag feeling loads better. In fact, I felt so good, I selected an envelope at random and ripped it open. My good mood evaporated instantly. "An _Onyx _American Express? How does a gator-poaching, underwear shoplifter get an Onyx Amex card?"

"Fraud," Givens said, his voice conveying disgust. "Any other credit cards?"

The next envelope held a Neiman Marcus store card. When I was finished, I had a stack of high-end credit cards giving a man with no steady job history an astronomical amount of credit.

Givens whistled when I added up the numbers. "What we wanna do now is see if he used his own Social Security number, which I highly doubt. Once we find out what numbers he's usin', it might give us a lead on who taught Dewey how to do it. Lord knows Dewey ain't smart enough to shoplift underpants on his own so somethin' like this is way beyond his capabilities. I'm thinkin' it's part of a bigger operation."

We pulled into the parking lot of a restaurant called the Huddle House on Harlan's Main Street just off of Route 421. I could smell the grease and knew the food here had to be good. My stomach growled loudly and Givens raised an eyebrow.

"Must be the marshal shit," I told him. "Bounty hunter shit never makes me this hungry."

His eyes crinkled and the corners of his mouth turned up. "No, no, no, Stephanie. Don't try fibbin' to me. You were scarfin' Krimpets and Kit Kats just fine doin' bounty hunter shit and don't think I didn't see you take that third doughnut this morning."

"You ate two Boston Kremes," I pointed out. "A third one and you'd never squeeze your ass into those jeans."

He threw back his head and laughed. "I _knew_ you were checkin' out my ass."

"It's hard to miss your ass, Marshal Tightpants."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Huddle House was a chain restaurant and it was my kind of place. There wasn't a single thing that could be considered even remotely healthy on the menu. Givens ordered the Chop House Burger and I followed his lead figuring he knew the native cuisine better than I did.

"What I'm havin' a hard time figuring," Givens said, swallowing a mouthful of burger, "is what Dewey planned to do with the credit cards. They were all in his name which creates a trail for anythin' he might do with 'em."

I nodded. "I had a skip who was arrested for credit card fraud. He ordered stuff off the Internet all day, claimed he never received it or someone used his card without authorization. The guy weighed close to three hundred pounds." I shuddered at the memory of Martin Paulson and made a mental note to ask Givens how he handled whales.

"What'd he do with the stuff?"

"Kept most of it, sold the rest on eBay."

"Sounds like too much work for Dewey," Givens mused. "Too complicated for him, too. Somebody's usin' him."

Having seen Dewey's sheet, I was inclined to agree.

"Need a refill, hon?" Our waitress, whose name tag declared her to be Shirlene deliberately ignored my empty glass and took Givens'. As she wiggled away in her yellow polyester uniform, I noticed the red soles of her shoes.

"I'll tell her to refill yours when she gets back," Givens grinned.

How was it that the master of minute detail failed to notice the expensive pair of Louboutin pumps Shirlene had on? Answer, he was still a guy and guys didn't know squat about women's footwear. Otherwise he'd be asking -

"How does a waitress afford those fancy French designer shoes?"

Damn, he was good. I saluted him with a French fry and got a smile in return. "They could be fake."

"Counterfeit or whoever is usin' those credit cards is launderin' the money with women's shoes," he concluded.

"Diabolical!" It popped out of my mouth before I could stop it.

Givens snorted with laughter. "You think you can question Shirlene? Might be a little weird if I asked her about her shoes."

"I'd pay money to see you do it," I challenged him.

"Now you're talkin'. Fifty bucks?" That manic gleam was back in his eyes.

Uh-oh. "Sure."

Shirlene returned with a pitcher of Coke and a fresh glass for Givens. "Here you go, darlin'."

I rolled my eyes.

"Those're some damn sexy shoes you got on there, Shirlene," Givens said, making a big show of looking down at her feet and then hitting her with one of his never-fail flirty grins. Then he hit me with a look that put me in the same category as fungus. "How come you never wear shoes like that for me?"

Okay, _maybe_ I'd get that hamster after all. I put some extra Jersey into my voice. "'Cause you never buy me shoes like that, you cheap bastard! You'd rather spend the money on beer and your stupid car."

He gave Shirlene a long-suffering 'see what I have to put up with' look. "Where'd you get those shoes? Maybe I'll buy her a pair."

Shirlene smiled and it wasn't a friendly smile at all. In fact, it was downright mean. "You think I'd tell you, Raylan Givens? We made out under the bleachers in tenth grade and here you are wavin' some big-haired bimbo under my nose and pretendin' like you don't know me."

Uh-oh.

"I know all about you, Mister Big Time Federal Marshal an' if you think for one second I'm tellin' you a damn thing about where I get my Loubies, you got another thing comin'!" She picked up the pitcher of Coke. "Asshole."

I cringed and closed my eyes, waiting for the inevitable to happen. There were worse things than smelling like Coke all day. Much worse things. I could list them from a to z.

Shirlene's heels clicked away and I was still dry. That meant someone else was wearing the Coke. I opened my eyes to see a drenched and pissed-off Givens scowling at me.

"Shit," he said.

"You owe me fifty bucks."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"At least she missed your hat."

Givens whirled on his heel to give me an angry stare that made me back up a few paces. "You think this is funny?"

Truthfully, I did. I know it was a little mean but let's face it, I was usually the one covered in garbage or dog poop. Coke was tame compared to some of the substances I'd worn. On the other hand, I knew exactly how he was feeling. "Of course not."

He grunted and stalked over to the Explorer, yanking the back open angrily. For a second, I thought he might be going for his shotgun but instead he pulled out a navy blue T-shirt with a Marshals' Service star on the chest. He shrugged out of his blazer, undid his tie and took off his shirt.

It was a good thing we were in the back of the restaurant and nobody was pulling in or out of the parking lot. The sight of Givens in his damp wife-beater and those jeans could have caused a multi-car pile-up. I fanned myself, tried not to drool, and thought about Morelli's ass, which was the finest male ass in Trenton. Unfortunately, I was miles from Trenton and Givens was putting on a show right here. He tugged the wife-beater over his head, mussing his Coke-soaked hair, and glanced over his shoulder at me.

I gave him a little finger wave.

"You're droolin'."

"Conceited ass."

"You got a real thing about my ass, don't you?" He pulled the T-shirt on and ran a hand through his hair. "Lord, this is disgustin'. It ain't as bad as the time I chased that fugitive through the sewers in Miami, but it's sticky an' I hate sticky."

Sewers? I was definitely getting that hamster. "Anyone ever throw food at you?"

"They've thrown all kinds of shit at me. Get a guy who's desperate and doesn't wanna go back inside, he'll do anythin'." Givens cocked his head. "You look like you know what I'm talkin' about."

I smiled and changed the subject before I had to tell embarrassing stories. "So what now?"

It didn't seem like we had anything left to do in Harlan. We'd questioned Sims, hit a dead end on the mystery of the red-soled shoes and were waiting to get information about those credit card applications. Givens called his office and I made a similar call to Ranger, since he didn't have to worry about pesky things like privacy laws or search warrants. It would be interesting to see who got results first and if the information we got was different. I had the feeling Givens liked having a resource that wasn't bound by the law the way he was.

"Now we go see an expert on petty, bullshit crimes, cons and scams," he said, getting into the truck. "He's a mean one, so keep your distance and let me do the talkin'."

"Who is he?"

Givens smiled tightly and it wasn't a happy smile. "My father."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Givens got quiet as we drove deeper into the hills. It was a good thing he knew where we were going because I didn't see any street signs and the only landmark I could pick out was a huge barn-like building with the faded words 'Jesus Saves' painted on it. I spent the time thinking about my parents. My father worked for the post office, retired and now drives a cab part-time to keep busy. My mother is the perfect Burg homemaker who keeps the house immaculate and wouldn't dream of serving a home-cooked meal without a home-made dessert. Valerie, my sister, is perfect. She was on her second marriage and third kid. I was the family oddball.

I couldn't imagine what it would be like to have a father that was a crook. It explained why Givens chose a career as a marshal and the set of his shoulders as we drove towards a weathered white two-story house. The yard was overgrown and the whole place looked neglected. Off to the side were a cluster of tombstones. I swallowed hard and remembered the time Morelli made me watch Deliverance with him.

Givens turned to me and explained. "People in the hollers bury the dead on the family property."

I thought of the Burg and how going to wakes and funerals at Stiva's was a social event. Being buried in your own yard seemed depressing and lonely. Of course, my Grandma Mazur would probably love the idea of someone seeing her headstone every time they mowed the lawn.

We parked at the end of the gravel driveway and Givens heaved a sigh. "You could wait here if you want."

"Do you want me to wait here?" I asked. If our situations were reversed, my mother would have already invited him in, insisted on feeding him dinner and started calling him my boyfriend. I cut my eyes to the house and felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

He shrugged. "Only if you wanna. I don't know how long I'll be."

"For God's sake, are you comin' in or decoratin' the damn driveway?" an irritated voice demanded.

Givens' jaw clenched and he turned to the old man who was peering into the driver's side at him. "Hello, Arlo."

Arlo Givens was in his late sixties or early seventies, was maybe a drop shorter than Givens with the same lean build and looked like the kind of senior citizen who didn't give a crap about bingo. He looked, as Givens said, like a mean old man. His beady-eyed gaze was sharp as he stared at me. "What's this? You traded in that blonde for a younger model?"

"Stephanie Plum, this is my father, Arlo." Givens got out of the car and smiled coldly at his father, adding,"Stephanie's a bounty hunter."

Arlo found this hilarious and let loose with a cackling laugh. It took him almost a full minute to recover. "She come to take me in?"

"We came to ask you some questions." Givens was all business. He glanced at me. "You comin'?"

"What's she gonna do, wait on the porch like a dog?" Arlo demanded. "Come on in, sweetheart, an' have a drink."

"He can be charming," Givens stage-whispered to me, "but make sure you check you still got your wallet when we leave."

I followed them into a living room that was filled with worn furniture and needed a good dusting. Faded family photographs took up one wall. There was a stack of newspapers on the coffee table and a half-empty bottle of Wild Turkey. I guessed that Arlo was a widower and maybe somebody came by once in a while to help clean up the place because it looked mostly okay, just dusty.

Givens froze and glared in the direction of a giant flat screen television that seemed horribly out of place in the shabby room. "What's that?"

"What's it look like?" Arlo shot back.

The conversation was off to an ugly start and I had the feeling it was going to get uglier. Givens was shooting a death glare at his father and Arlo was giving it right back, his glare perfected with decades more practice. I could smell the testosterone and it wasn't an encouraging sign when I noticed Givens' right hand drop to his gun.

"You know anybody runnin' a credit card scam?" The conversation was now an interrogation.

Arlo squared his shoulders. "And if I did, why would I tell you? You think I'm a rat?"

"I think you're an accessory," Givens shot back. "An' you also know who the shoe dealer is."

"The what?" Arlo's eyes went wide. "What in the hell is a shoe dealer? Is that some kinda new drug?"

Givens exhaled in frustration, like a bull about to charge. "It's the guy sellin' the fancy French shoes."

"Do I look like I'd know anythin' about goddamned shoes?" Arlo exploded.

"Let's see, credit card fraud, money launderin' and black market shoes," Givens ticked off. "Sounds about right to me. Where'd you get the money for that TV?"

The old man rolled his eyes. "It was on sale at Penney's."

Givens was smiling that feral smile again. "They don't sell TVs. Care to tell me another lie?"

"I don't care to tell you shit," Arlo growled. "Did you even bother payin' your respects to your aunt on your way in-?"

"Don't you dare talk about respect for Helen! If you had any goddamned respect for her at all, it'd be you in that grave," Givens snarled back.

Oh shit. It was like stepping into an episode Jerry Springer.

Arlo went still, that same cobra stillness that Givens had earlier, and then his hand flashed out, striking Givens across the face. "You ungrateful little bastard."

"Bein' a bastard is an improvement over admittin' I'm your son." Givens' hands were clenched into fists and the veins were standing out in his neck.

We were past ugly and I didn't have cell phone reception to call the cops to help break up the fight I knew was coming. There was only one thing to do. I dug the stun gun out of my bag and zapped Givens before he could pound his father to a pulp. Or vice versa. Either way, I didn't want to see it happen.

He went down with a crash, jerking and twitching. I counted my blessings that he didn't piss himself and that I still had enough power in the stun gun if Givens wanted to pound _me_ to a pulp for this.

Bending down, I hooked my hands under Givens' arms and tugged. He was heavier than he looked and dragging him down the porch stairs like a sack of flour was probably a bad idea. I turned to his father and gave him a little finger wave. "I don't suppose you could help me load him into the car?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I drove aimlessly. Or cluelessly, if you wanted to be more accurate. Not only didn't I have cell reception but the GPS wasn't connecting to the satellite. I had no idea where I was or which direction I was heading in. The point was to put distance between Givens and his father and at least I managed to do that.

As for Givens, he was stuffed across the backseat, his hat on his chest and he wasn't moving yet. From time to time, he made little noises and twitched but so far he didn't have motor control.

To fill the silence, I switched on the radio. Static, static, country music, static. I turned off the radio and drummed my fingers on the wheel. Finally, I started telling him about my first case as a bounty hunter, hunting down Morelli. Morelli was accused of shooting an unarmed man and tracking him led to me getting stalked by psycho boxer Benito Ramirez. We ended up clearing Morelli's name and sending Ramirez off to jail but it had been scary and dangerous.

I was babbling so much, I didn't even realize I hadn't edited out the embarrassing parts until Givens sat up and asked, "Morelli really handcuffed you bare-naked to your shower curtain rod?"

Unh! Mental head slap. "Yes."

"It was almost worth bein' zapped to hear that." He leaned forward, eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror. "Almost. You ever try anythin' like that again an' I'll do a lot worse than handcuff you in your shower. Got me?"

Gulp. I wasn't sorry I stopped the fight from happening and I wasn't going to apologize. "Any idea where we are?"

He sighed. "If I get out are you gonna let me drive or are you gonna take off and make me shoot out the tires?"

I killed the engine and handed the keys back to him, climbing over the front console into the passenger seat. He was pissed at me. I knew he would be and I hoped he got over it quickly.

"We're near Evarts," Givens informed me. "I went to high school there."

"And made out with Shirlene under the bleachers."

He shot me a look, letting me know that teasing him right now was a bad idea. "That, too. I got one more person to speak to and then we're goin' back to Lexington. It's been a damn long day."

"Sounds good," I said. "Not another family member, though? I don't think I could handle it."

Givens smiled and it looked like his sense of humor had recovered, too. "Naw. We're goin' to Audrey's."

_Author's Note: For those of you who are unfamiliar with Justified, to say that Raylan and his father don't get along is an understatement. There isn't much that's funny about the way these two characters interact. For the fans of Justified who are reading this, you knew what was coming. Hope I handled it well._


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

(Raylan's Interlude - 2)

I hustled Stephanie through the front door, past the bar and out into the back of Audrey's, watching like a hawk as every drunk, horny asshole in there wondered whether she was new talent and mentally undressed her. If I had to get into a fight taking her out the same way, well, the mood I was in, I wouldn't much mind.

We went up the the camper Ellen May worked out of and I rapped on the door. Ellen May had the dubious distinction of being the favorite of both Dickie Bennett and Dewey. She was also hooked on meth so I figured her judgment was severely impaired. If she ever had a moment of clarity, the thought of being with either one of them would be enough to make her change professions.

Ellen May flung open the door with a goofy stoned grin. She was somewhere in her mid twenties, with badly permed dark brown hair and the yellow eyes of a heavy meth addict. We'd met twice before but Lord only knew if she remembered me or not. "Well, hey, baby. How you been? You brought a friend! That's cool, I love parties!"

I glanced over at Stephanie and she was trying to smile politely at Ellen May and not stare at the unflattering cheap neon pink bra and neon green panties Ellen May was wearing. Neither undergarment fit her particularly well and the obnoxious color drew the eye, no matter how much you wanted to look away. Kinda like a car crash. With saggy boobs.

The camper was small, most of the space taken up by a king-sized bed which was neatly made with a faded blue quilt. I wasn't so sure that the sheets had been changed. Ever. The place smelled like sweat and sex and a cheap vanilla-scented candle that was probably supposed to mask the other smells. It wasn't the worst place of its kind I'd ever been in but it was depressing all the same.

Ellen May staggered over to me, started running her hands over my chest, and she was so high she didn't notice the Marshals' Service star on my T-shirt. "Tell me what you want me to do."

Stephanie was pointing at Ellen May's shoes and mouthing the word 'red'. I nodded, indicating I'd seen the red soled fuck-me pumps too. Then I raised my eyebrows, silently challenging Stephanie to ask the questions since my last attempt at asking a woman about her shoes didn't go too well. It occurred to me I could make my fifty bucks back, so I mouthed the words 'double or nothing' and Stephanie nodded with a grin.

"I love your shoes!" Stephanie exclaimed.

Ellen May let go of me and turned to see who was talking to her. Apparently, she forgot Stephanie was in the room. "Oh, hi! Are you new here? This ain't your customer, is he?"

"That's my boyfriend," Stephanie said, quickly coming up to me and squeezing my arm. "Today's his birthday so I asked him what he wanted and he wanted, uh, you know..."

"Oh, don't be shy! I love threesomes and you're real pretty!"

It looked like I'd be getting my fifty back _plus_ a nice profit. My day was finally starting to turn around.

"So about those shoes," Stephanie prompted.

"I ain't supposed to say," Ellen May giggled.

"I'll say it for you.". Stephanie narrowed her eyes. "Dewey Crowe. That two-timing twerp has been handing out those shoes out all over town. I saw Shirlene at the Huddle House with a pair."

"I know Shirlene.". Ellen May was starting to come down from her happy place and her face contorted into a pissed off expression of jealousy. "She's a fat old pig."

"She's a fat old pig with a pair of Loubies," Stephanie goaded her. "Of course, we can't say it's because she's been busy with Dewey on account of you can't say whether it was Dewey who gave you those shoes. It's a shame. If I knew for sure, I could take _my_ shoes and have a little shoe barbecue at Dewey's place. Except he moves around a lot. I'm not sure where he's staying now."

Ellen May was the very picture of confusion. "I thought this is your boyfriend."

"Because Dewey's a cheating scum-sucking dirtbag." She shrugged in my direction. "At least this one has a nice ass."

Suddenly it looked like I might be out another fifty bucks because Stephanie was hitting all the right buttons with Ellen May. She was doing such a good job, I almost forgave her for zapping me with her stun gun. Almost. She did it before I could goad Arlo into giving up even a scrap of information. Or punch him in the face. Whichever came first.

Ellen May's yellow eyes swept over me. "He's real fine."

"I'd still like to give that Dewey Crowe a piece of my mind," Stephanie said.

"I don't know where he is," Ellen May sighed. "I wish I did cuz that shoe barbecue sounds like a lot of fun."

Stephanie pulled a business card from her big black bag. "If you see him again, would you call me?"

Ellen May took the card, stared at it for a long time and then haltingly read, "Bail enforcement agent. What's that?"

"Just call me and I'll bring the lighter fluid." Stephanie glanced over at me and there was a wicked gleam in her eyes. "Listen, May Ellen -"

"It's Ellen May, baby."

"Sorry.". Stephanie leaned in close and spoke softly into Ellen May's ear. She handed the hooker some cash and to my amazement, Ellen May turned to leave.

"Have fun! And happy birthday, baby!". With that, Ellen May left us alone.

I couldn't believe it. I was out a hundred bucks. "What'd you say to her?"

Stephanie grinned. "I told her Shirlene was on duty over at the Huddle House right now."

Holy shit. Visions of the strung-out jealous hooker versus Shirlene danced through my head and I was sorry I couldn't be there to see it. I was pretty sure I'd hear about it if Tom Bergen got called in to the scene. "Nice work, junior marshal."

"But how did you know she'd have the shoes?"

"I caught Dewey right here in this trailer a few months back," I explained. "He'd just ripped off the assholes that ripped off the oxy bus and came here to get laid."

I could see her connecting the dots. "Wasn't he also arrested for impersonating a federal - Ohmigod. It was _you_!".

"Yeah," I sighed. "It was. Ever'body wants to be me. Prob'ly on account of I got such a fine ass."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was early evening when we got back to the Mount Aire Motel and I was looking forward to taking a shower and having a quiet dinner with Winona. That's when I remembered the fight I'd started this morning. "Shit."

Stephanie looked over at me and cut her eyes over to my motel room where the lights were blazing behind the drawn blinds. "If you feel like delaying the inevitable, I have half a box of butterscotch Krimpets left."

"I think it'd be a bad idea for me to go in smellin' like another woman's butterscotch Krimpets." Shit. Shitshitshit. "But I appreciate the offer."

"I like avoidance," she told me. "Especially in situations like yours. Why do you think I'm in Kentucky?"

"How's that workin' out for you?"

"I'm up a hundred bucks and I'm working with a really cool guy."

Meanwhile, I was out a hundred bucks, had a hell of a headache from being zapped, was sticky, smelled like Coke and was going to walk into a motel room that was colder than Siberia. Shit.

Stephanie seemed reluctant to leave me to my fate. "If I _was_ in Trenton, I'd pick up a couple of meatball subs from Pino's, a six-pack of beer and invite Morelli over to watch the Rangers game. Then we'd have wild gorilla sex. After that, everything would be fine."

"I hate hockey." But I was liking the idea of wild gorilla sex. Stephanie wasn't the only woman at the Mount Aire with an appreciation of my fine ass. And it seemed to me that Winona might like a meatball sub. In fact, a meatball sub sounded like the perfect dinner after my shitty day. "Good idea on the food an' beer."

She smiled at me and climbed out of the Explorer. "I'm three doors down and hundreds of miles from Morelli. I don't want to hear you having wild gorilla sex so try and keep it down, okay?"

"I swear on my marshal's star." I raised my hand and tried to look solemn. "Get some rest. At least one a' us is gonna have some information on those credit cards by tomorrow mornin' and we're gonna put our heads together an' come up with a plan of attack."

"Good night, Givens." Stephanie took a step towards her room and just then something streaked past us both. Before I could yell at her to get down, a fireball erupted from her motel room, the force knocking her back on her ass.

Somebody had just shot a rocket into my partner's motel room.

It meant we were on the right track.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

I got up, brushed the dust and ash off of me and watched my motel room going up in flames. Other guests ran out of their rooms and I could hear sirens in the distance. The door to Givens' room opened and Winona rushed across the parking lot to grab tightly on to him. Nothing like a firebomb to bring a couple together.

"Are you okay?" she asked him.

"I'm fine, 'Nona.". His arm snaked around her, holding her close even as he glanced over at me. "How 'bout you, Stephanie?"

I wouldn't know until later when the adrenaline wore off and I could check to see if I still had my eyebrows. Sighing, I put on a brave face and said, "I hate it when they firebomb my place."

"I know," he grinned at me, probably not fooled for a second. "Pain in the ass, replacin' your stuff. Luckily, you don't have much to replace."

Winona pulled away from Givens to stare up at him. "What do you mean, you know?"

"Happened to me once or twice.". He shrugged and tried to look innocent.

It was a sure bet that if I knew that innocent look was baloney, Winona could see through him better than I could. Her hands dropped to her hips and her eyes swept from Givens to me and back again. "Either of you ever ask yourselves if you might want to think about another line of work?"

"The button factory and the tampon factory are laying off workers and I don't have what it takes to be a makeover lady at Macy's.". So there. It wasn't like my mother or Morelli didn't ask me this at least once a week.

"I like ice cream but unless you're Ben or Jerry, you ain't gonna get rich sellin' it," Givens put in, still trying that innocent look. I wondered if it ever worked on Winona. "Anyway, it looks like our line of inquiry is makin' somebody uncomfortable. We're doin' something right."

Winona frowned up at him. "Our motel got firebombed. You really think that's a good thing, Raylan?"

"Of course not.". Anything else he might have added was lost when the Lexington PD showed up behind the fire trucks. Behind them was a dark blue Chevy Blazer driven by one of Givens' fellow marshals, with his boss Art as the passenger. "Wait here, 'Nona. C'mon, Steph."

I glanced back at Winona and could tell she didn't like that I was included in his marshal's business but she wasn't. Especially since I technically wasn't a marshal and I knew my plastic junior marshal badge didn't count. I followed Givens to where his boss and the other marshal were standing. He was younger than Givens, blond and he was also eye-candy. Was this some kind of marshal's service requirement? No ugly men need apply?

"Stephanie, this is Tim Gutterson and you remember Art.". Givens ran through the introductions and he stood close to me, looking protective.

Art frowned. "I take it you didn't find Dewey Crowe today."

"He's involved in some kind of credit card fraud and money laundering operation using fancy French designer shoes," Givens explained. "We made some progress, enough to piss somebody off."

"Oh, I see that.". The older marshal emitted a sigh that reminded me of Morelli's sighs when I told him about my days. "Shoes, huh? Strappy sandals or dress pumps?"

"Pumps so far."

"I was being sarcastic, Raylan," Art said, wearily. He turned that weary expression in my direction. "Well, Miss Plum, since it looks like you were the intended target, we're gonna put you under our protection. And since it looks like Raylan may also be a target, he's going with you. Tim, you get to babysit the whole lot of 'em."

Tim cut his eyes to me and then to Givens. "Lucky me."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The safe house was relatively new, with a huge 'for sale' sign out front. Givens unlocked the door while Tim watched our backs. We walked into a living room that was bigger than my entire apartment with furniture that cost more than the furniture in my apartment and my parents' house. Winona sighed and headed for the kitchen as comfortable as if she'd lived here her whole life.

"This is Winona's house," Tim told me.

Which explained why Winona was so comfortable.

"Then why are you living in a motel?" I asked Givens. "It's not on top of a toxic waste dump or a cemetery, is it?"

Givens shot a look at Tim that could have frozen lava. "It's complicated."

"Not really. Raylan and Winona were married, then they got divorced and Winona married Gary. Winona's back with Raylan now and nobody knows where Gary is.". Tim recited this with about as much emotion as if he were reading the ingredients on a box of Cheerios.

I shrugged at Givens. "I'm not one to throw stones at Winona's fancy house."

"Throw stones at what?". Winona came back into the living room with a bottle of wine and some glasses. "Who's throwin' stones?"

"Figure of speech," Givens said, stretching. His hand casually dropped onto her shoulder and kneaded its way up her neck. "I need a shower."

They locked stares and her mouth curved into a smile that said it was going to be a shower for two. "Let me get you some clean towels, Cowboy."

As they headed up the stairs, Givens turned to me, mouthed the word 'gorilla' and winked. That wink made me realize that I missed Morelli. Bad. If this was Trenton, it would be me who was having wild gorilla sex. Even not-so-wild chimpanzee sex would have been good. I stared longingly up the stairs.

"We should watch TV," Tim said. If he was half as good as Givens, he knew what I was thinking. Either that or he thought I wanted Givens. "Give 'em their privacy."

Before I could answer, my cell phone rang.

"Are you okay?" Morelli asked me. "I got a phone call from Ranger telling me your motel blew up."

"Just my room. Not the entire motel.". I reached up with my free hand and was happy to discover my eyebrows were still there. "The marshals are keeping me safe."

There was a long pause. "All the marshals or just that Givens guy?"

I lowered my voice. "He's under protection, too."

"Tell him Gazarra's changing the odds again.". Morelli sighed. "Are you alone?"

"I was about to watch TV with the other marshal. Why?"

"We've never had phone sex," Morelli said.

It was true. We'd done a lot of other things but never anything long distance. I could imagine those chocolate eyes going dark with lust and suddenly phone sex was looking good. Covering the receiver, I asked Tim if there was another bedroom.

He nodded and I went quietly up the stairs, moving quickly past the master bedroom where I heard the sound of the shower running in the master bathroom. I hurried past, not wanting to hear anything else. The guest bedroom was further down the hall and I locked the door behind me.

"Are you there?" Morelli asked.

"I'm here. Alone. With a bed."

"Are you naked?"

"Are you?"

His voice took on that husky edge that made my toes curl. "I will be in just a second."

Unlike my stun gun, I always kept my cell phone fully charged.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

I walked into the kitchen to find another marshal talking to Tim, Givens and Winona. She was Black and pretty in a 'don't mess with me' kind of way. Her eyes narrowed in an assessing look that made me glad I'd showered, done something with my hair and put on makeup before coming downstairs, even if I was wearing yesterday's clothes. The good news was, this marshal brought coffee and doughnuts with her. I liked her already.

The kitchen was the kind of kitchen I'd always dreamed of having. There was a double-decker oven and a giant refrigerator. The countertops were shiny granite and cabinet space was so plentiful, I wondered how many boxes of Captain Crunch they could hold. If I had a kitchen like this, I would make the best Pop Tarts ever. The truth was, I liked looking at fancy kitchens but I had no idea what to do with one.

Everyone was gathered around the wide end of the counter, sipping coffee and munching on doughnuts. Winona had already taken the jelly doughnuts and Givens was chewing on a Boston creme. Luckily, there was one more Boston creme for me.

"Good morning," Tim greeted me and he gestured to the female marshal. "This is Rachel Brooks. You can thank her for the unhealthy breakfast."

Rachel flipped him the bird. "They were all out of tofu doughnuts at Krispy Kreme."

Winona nodded a greeting at me. "Did you sleep okay?"

Before I could answer, Tim chimed in. "I'd say everybody slept just fine. You all look so _relaxed_ this morning."

It was amazing how he said it without even a glimmer of sarcasm. Rachel, on the other hand, just smiled knowingly and kept her focus on the blueberry doughnut in her hand.

Givens turned to study me, no doubt wondering what or who relaxed me. I let him ponder the question for a minute before clueing him. "Morelli said to tell you they were changing the odds again."

He grabbed a chocolate doughnut from the box and tugged lightly at the waistband of his jeans, reminding me of my comment from yesterday. Probably he burned off the calories last night. "The hell they are. It was a motel room, not a vehicle. That's a whole separate category. Makes me question the effectiveness of Trenton's finest if they don't know the difference."

This got Tim's interest. "Odds on what?"

"Trenton PD has a runnin' pool on how many of Stephanie's vehicles'll get destroyed each month," Givens explained. "Her Cayenne got blown up a couple of days ago. That's how I found her hitch-hikin' on the side of the road."

My left eye started to twitch and I knew they were all staring at me. I was tempted to spill the beans about his Town Car but I was learning too much from his marshal lessons. Besides, I'd never find Dewey without his help. And then there was the nutjob with the rocket launcher who firebombed my Cayenne and the motel room.

"What kind of depraved mind would blow up a Porsche?" Rachel wondered aloud.

Winona just stared at me, probably wondering what cruel Fate brought Givens and me together. Probably she knew all about the mayhem and destruction that followed him around and as Morelli pointed out, there were _two _of us. And we were working together.

Suddenly, all three marshals had their guns out and were aiming them at the glass doors that led from the kitchen to the backyard. Hal stood there with a pleasant smile, holding a small duffel bag and waving at Givens. If having the weapons of three U.S. marshals pointed at him made him nervous, he did a pretty good job of hiding it.

"Stand down. That's Hal." Givens holstered his weapon and opened the back door.

"Who's Hal?" Rachel asked.

Givens glanced back at her. "He works for Ranger."

"Who's Ranger?" Rachel wanted to know next.

"Don't ask me," Tim said. "I was lost the minute I heard women's shoes were involved."

Winona perked up. "What shoes?"

"Louboutins. We're not sure if they're real or fake," I told her.

Tim made a face. "I'm sure someone from Harlan's behind it. It's always someone from Harlan."

"And Raylan always ends up in a shoot-out. The AUSAs are going to love doing the investigation on this one," Rachel said.

Givens shut the door, holding the duffel bag out to me and looking at Rachel with that wounded puppy expression he'd used when I called him a screw up. "I don't always end up in a shoot-out."

Tim, Rachel and Winona all rolled their eyes.

"I'm still alive, ain't I?" he muttered. "The bad guys're all dead. An' every one of those was justified."

I opened the duffel bag and discovered a fresh set of clothes and toiletries. There was also a manila folder. I pulled it out and showed it to Givens. "This is what we've been waiting for."

"Give it here." He snatched it from my hand.

"Hey!" I lunged for the folder but he held it up high, out of my reach.

"Now I really feel like I'm babysitting," Tim commented.

Givens flipped through the folder and frowned. "This ain't good."

"What? What's not good?" I tried to peek but none of the information meant anything to me. It was just a list of names, Social Securiy numbers and addresses in Harlan County.

Tim sighed wearily. "Anyone feel like telling the rest of us what's going on or are we supposed to pretend we don't see the two of you when you sneak out?"

Raylan handed me the folder. "We're not sneakin' anywhere."

We weren't?

"We're out an' out leavin'."

"That's good because Judge Reardon's waitin' for me," Winona said, hopping off of her chair with a smile. "I hoped I wouldn't have to spend the day cooped up with all of you. No offense."

"I call dibs on Winona." Rachel shot a smug look at Tim. "Have fun babysitting these two. You might want to take your own car."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 

"How many cars of yours have been destroyed?" Tim asked me from the backseat of the Explorer. He surprised me by ignoring Rachel's advice and probably all common sense by insisting on riding with us. Between my history with cars and Givens' history with shoot-outs in Harlan, he either had a lot of faith or a death wish.

I shrugged. "I try not to keep count but it's been enough that I can barely afford car insurance and the only company that'll insure me is a little questionable."

"Don't be shy," Givens said, glancing at me from the driver's seat. "Tell Tim about the exploding Porsche Boxster and the garbage truck."

Tim's eyes went wide and then he stared hard at Givens. "How about you tell me where we're going and _then_ she can tell me about the Boxster and the garbage truck?"

It took me a second to realize that Givens must have run my name and seen all of the Trenton PD reports about my cars that had been destroyed, stolen or vandalized and the ones where I'd stumbled on dead bodies. As I thought about it, there had to a lot of those reports. Tim's idea to change the subject was suddenly very appealing. "Yeah, tell us where we're going."

"Let's see if you can guess." Givens was smirking but I wasn't sure if it was meant for me or for Tim or both of us. "Who else would have the information in those files if all those people had one important thing in common? You first, Steph. Show me how good you are at puttin' it together."

The file had names, addresses and Social Security numbers for over thirty people. What could thirty people all have in common? They all lived in Harlan County. Was that important? Maybe. The county clerk would have information about people from the county. Tax records? That would have all three kinds of information...

"They're all dead," Tim said. "We're going to the county clerk's office to figure out which of 'em sold the information and to who."

"I was going to say that," I protested. And I would have. Eventually.

Tim shrugged. "I said it for you. Now you can tell me about that exploding Boxster. That sounds a whole lot more interesting than a county employee who can be bought."

Why me?


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

The Harlan County Clerk's office was located in the courthouse. It looked about the same as any courthouse you might expect to find. There was the usual, imposing architecture and the inside was probably all wood paneling and marble with an odor of cheap floor wax mingled with the sweat of lawyers out to one-up each other. The building housed the clerk's office and other county departments, including the Sheriff's department. I couldn't see from the front of the building but I assumed there was a small jail in the back.

"Hold up." Tim leaned forward, resting his hand on the back of my seat. "What's the plan?"

"We go in an' get nosy. See who starts sweatin'." Givens put the Explorer in park and glanced over at me. "How would you handle this, Junior Marshal Plum?"

I smiled. This was an easy one. "If this were the Burg, it would be simple. Betty Szajak's niece works for the County Clerk's office. Betty and my Grandma Mazur talk all the time so she'd know all the gossip about the niece and then I'd check with all the other local gossips to see what they knew."

The two men stared at me as if I was suddenly speaking Martian and I guessed probably they did something else. Something more cop-like. With wiretaps and surveillance and things like that.

"I've been gone too long," Givens said to me after he recovered his composure. "I don't know who's workin' here and all the town gossips won't talk to me since I'm a marshal. And I was never much for gossip. Still, I imagine that could work."

"I can't." Tim's lips curved into a smirk. "Though imagining Rachel doing that is pretty funny."

I rolled my eyes. "It works a lot. You'd be surprised how many FTAs I've caught because of gossip. Word travels fast in the Burg."

"Stephanie's too nice to make someone sweat," Givens added with a grin. "I'm tryin' to teach her and convince her to give up this bounty hunter bullshit. She oughtta join the Marshal's Service."

"Why wouldn't you want to be a marshal?" Tim asked me. "Look at us. We're two guys in a fulfilling career hunting violent offenders, shipping them from place to place, seizing assets and getting shot at every now and again. Plus the badge gets us laid like you wouldn't believe."

"And you work in glamorous places like Kentucky," I commented.

Tim raised an eyebrow. "Trenton's a destination?"

"Children." Givens cut the engine. "I'm takin' lead here -"

"You sure that's a good idea? You arrested their sheriff." Tim was the picture of innocence as he made the revelation.

Givens rolled his eyes. "The man worked for a drug cartel and was gonna turn me over them."

"Maybe so but crime was way down when he was in office."

Who needed Betty Szajak or the Burg gossips when I had these two?

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Hey, Raylan." The security guard manning the metal detectors at the courthouse's entrance gave Givens a huge smile as we approached. "Come to see the sheriff?"

At first I mistook the smile as friendly but then the other guard started snickering. Then they both started openly guffawing. Givens' jaw clenched and his expression grew hard. I guessed he didn't much care for being the butt of the joke. "Official U.S. Marshal's business, Elrod. I could tell you, but I might have to kill you."

They let us through without another word but they were still snickering as we passed. I could tell by Givens' posture that our simple mission of information gathering wasn't going to be so simple if even the security guards were openly mocking him.

"Bet he wouldn't mind talking to the town gossips now," Tim whispered to me.

Givens whirled, aiming a withering glare in Tim's direction. Either he had super-hearing or that hat magnified sound like some kind of radar dish. "Somethin' you feel like sharin' with the rest of the class, Tim?"

Tim rolled his eyes. "Stephanie wanted to know how you knew Elrod."

Damn, he was good.

And so was Givens. "'Course she did." He turned to me and the glare was nowhere to be found. It was nice to know he wasn't falling for Tim's line of b.s. but didn't mind playing along with it. "Elrod was a couple years ahead of me in high school. We were on the baseball team together, him playin' second base an' me in the outfield. Always thought he was kind of a dick. Sad to say, he ain't changed much."

"Thank you." I waited until Givens was looking ahead again and then demonstrated my gift for sign language by showing Tim one of the many Italian hand gestures I knew. It was, in my experience, better than a death glare for getting the message across.

Tim flashed a smile at me that would have had women in the Burg hurling panties at him. I wondered if that was something they taught marshals how to do.

We turned right and passed a maintenance man mopping the floor. He grunted softly as we walked on the freshly mopped floor towards the Clerk's office. It was unavoidable but I could understand how he felt. There was something familiar about him and I started to turn for a better look.

Givens grabbed my arm, pulling me to him and murmured in my ear. "Don't turn around. That guy moppin' the floor is Dalton Crowe. I want you to go talk to him. _Quietly_. He ain't gonna tell you where Dewey is but he's gonna tell Dewey that the pretty li'l bounty hunter who was lookin' for him is back."

I resisted the urge to turn and focused on listening to Givens. The unspoken logic behind his order was that I'd spook the Crowes but not the way he would. Recapturing Dewey was now secondary to shutting down whatever operation they were involved in. At least for Givens. For me, I just wanted to catch my skip and go home to Trenton. Okay, I _was_ a little curious about the shoes. What woman wouldn't be?

A figure stepped out of the Clerk's office, blocking our path. It was the Sheriff and she fixed Givens with her own version of the death glare, one hand resting on the butt of her gun. She was in her late forties or early fifties, a little heavy set with dark brown hair. "If you're plannin' on pissin' in my territory, Marshal Givens, this ain't the way to go about it."

"Shit," Givens muttered. He gave me a little shove and hissed, "Go talk to Dalton while I deal with this." Then he spoke louder. "Call the office, Plum. Let 'em know the locals ain't bein' cooperative."

"Yessir." I resisted the urge to salute and high-tailed it just as the Sheriff started ripping into Givens for ruining Hunter Mosley's career and turning Harlan County into a lawless hellhole.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dalton was mopping the floor just outside of the ladies room and that seemed like the perfect way to conveniently run into him. After I peed. Two hours on the road and a giant cup of coffee took their toll. Besides, I reasoned, it added credibility to my being in the hall. Also, my teeth were floating.

When I came out of the bathroom, Dalton was further down the hall but he was obviously taking his time doing his job. Now that I was paying attention, I recognized him from the mug shots in Givens' file. He was in his late fifties, wiry but with the start of a gut and a hairline that had receded for a better climate a long time ago.

As I approached him, I could hear the Sheriff still tearing into Givens and his voice occasionally interrupting. I had the feeling he was getting reamed to buy time for me to carry out his orders. It was nice having a partner, especially one that didn't come with the strings that were usually attached to working with Ranger. More than that, I was learning a lot from someone who actually wanted to teach me. Maybe a career as a marshal wasn't such a bad idea. Besides, the male marshals were really nice to look at.

"Excuse me," I said, stopping in front of Dalton.

He looked up at me, obviously annoyed. "Now what? Ain't it bad enough you stomped all over my clean floors with them big ugly combat boots?"

"I'm sorry –"

"You wanna show me how sorry you are an' re-mop the floor you screwed up?" Dalton demanded. Then he snorted in disgust and hitched up his jeans. "I didn't think so. Why are you still in my face?"

What a charmer. "It's about your son –"

"Who the hell are you and what are you doin' pokin' around in my bidness?" Dalton waved the mop handle at me to emphasize his point.

I pulled out a business card. "I'm with the Vincent Plum Agency. Dewey missed his court date in Florida and needs to reschedule -"

Dalton burst out laughing. "Sugar britches, has that line _ever_ worked?"

"More times than calling a woman _sugar britches_ worked for you," I shot back. I'd been called a lot of things but this was a new one. Probably a Southern insult. We were much more creative in the Burg.

"Well, that line ain't workin' _this_ time, _sugar britches_. I ain't seen Dewey an' I don't know where he is."

"Then why are you in Harlan?" I asked. "You've always worked out of Florida. The only reason you have to be here is Dewey."

His eyes narrowed and he gave me a mean look that must have worked wonders in the big house. "You're a nosy bitch, ain't you, sugar britches?"

I hit him with the meanest look I could muster. When Dalton didn't flinch, I imitated Givens' mean look, clenching my jaw in the closest approximation of the way Givens did.

Dalton backed up a step and I wondered whether I would look good in a cowboy hat.

"I'm askin' one more time. Where's Dewey?" Great. Now I was even talking like Givens.

The mop handle caught me in the stomach, knocking the wind out of me and the next thing I knew, the bucket of water was coming at me. I coughed and spluttered and when my vision cleared, I saw Dalton taking off down the hall. The one he'd just mopped. I took off after him and rounded the corner just as Dalton reached the security guards. He was pointing at me and they weren't looking nearly as friendly as they did when we entered the building.

Uh-oh.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Hands grabbed me roughly from behind and I was shoved face-first against the wall, my arms wrenched behind me. I felt the cold sensation of handcuffs closing tightly around my wrists. My heart was thundering in my chest and spots danced in front of my eyes.

"Damn bounty hunters." Givens spun me around, lips curled in disgust as he glared down at me. "Move it, you."

He shoved me past the security team and we had almost made it to the door when Elrod spoke. "Wasn't she with you?"

The look Givens threw Elrod's way said in no unspoken terms that Elrod was dumber than a brick. "You ever see the U.S. Marshals Service workin' with this kinda trash?"

I was thrust out the door with a rough shove and then hustled into the back of the Explorer. If this was an act, Givens deserved an Oscar. What if I was really in trouble? What if I screwed up his investigation? What exactly was Super Max and would I get sent there to share a cell with Joyce Barnhardt?

Givens got behind the wheel and Tim hopped into the passenger seat beside him. Neither one of them said a word to me as we pulled out of the parking lot. The silent treatment continued as we got back onto 421.

Now I was really getting worried. The handcuffs were painfully tight and I was itchy, probably from whatever Dalton was using to mop the floor. I itched everywhere and I couldn't scratch. Worse, the air-conditioning in the Explorer was on full-blast. I started shivering in my soaked T-shirt from a combination of the chill and panic that I was in a lot of trouble.

Givens' eyes met mine in the rearview mirror and I nearly cried with relief when I saw that he was worried, not angry. He pulled over onto the shoulder of the road and got out, coming around to the back. This time, he was gentle as he uncuffed me. "I didn't hurt you, did I? I tried to be careful but it had to be convincing or you woulda ended up in County lockup."

"It was definitely convincing," Tim said, turning around to look at me. "I was sure she was either gonna faint or start crying."

"My junior marshal would _never_ faint or cry." Givens pocketed the handcuffs. "But that wet T-shirt ain't doin' much for you. I got a jacket you can borrow."

"I think the wet T-shirt does plenty for her," Tim put in.

"Eyes front, Gutterson." Givens handed me a blue nylon windbreaker that had the words 'U.S. Marshal' along each sleeve and across the back. "I'm not supposed to let a civilian wear my jacket but you're a junior marshal so I think we can bend the rules a little."

He turned his back to give me privacy and I peeled off the soaking wet T-shirt, grateful for the loaned windbreaker. And then I looked down at myself. "Holy cow!"

Givens spun around. "What?"

"I either have a rash or a chemical burn. Is it on my face too? He got my face. Ohmigod. What about my hair? Is it falling out? Is it turning colors? I just got rid of those weird highlights." I couldn't have a hair crisis. Not when I was hundreds of miles from Mr. Alexander.

"Your hair is fine but your face looks irritated. I have a first aid kit back here so we'll see if we can't fix you up." Givens patted my shoulder. "You did real good with Dalton, Stephanie."

"He dumped mop water on me."

"Is that the worst thing you ever had dumped on you?" he asked, opening a tube of hydrocortisone and dabbing some on my face.

"Well, no," I admitted.

"Your objective was to shake him up an' you did." He held the tube out to me. "And you helped me distract security while Tim did his part. Tim, what'd you find out?"

"Dalton Crowe is driving a 1984 tan Caprice. Your pal Tom Bergen is running the plates." Tim turned to look at me. "Holy shit!"

I yelped. "What? What is it? Is my skin peeling off?"

He shook his head. "Your makeup is completely intact. That stuff must be military grade!"

"Why me?"

Tim's phone pinged and he read the screen. "Well here's a surprise. Dalton's car is registered to a Luther Daley, resident of Bennett County. And here's another shocker, old Luther has a record."

"Worked for the Bennetts?" Givens asked.

"Any other gainful employment in Bennett County?" Tim's phone pinged again. "Trooper Tom says he believes Luther's working for Dickie. You think Dickie's the shoe kingpin?"

Givens shook his head. "Dickie wouldn't know a fancy designer shoe from a pair of Keds and credit card fraud is way beyond him."

"Is money laundering?" I asked. I had no idea who Dickie was but since he shared a first name with my ex-husband, the horse's ass, I hated him already. "What do these Bennetts do?"

"Most of 'em are dead, thanks to Raylan." Tim smirked at me. "Raylan shot and killed Coover Bennett. Doyle Bennett shot Raylan and I shot and killed Doyle and then Mags, their mama, poisoned herself. Dickie's the last one standing but only on one leg. He's sort of gimpy."

"They were in the weed business mostly but there were side businesses that went along with it." Givens shot Tim a look that would have made me shut up for a year. "Mags orchestrated a land deal with a mining company that screwed over a lot of people in Bennett and Harlan. She made a killin' and was goin' to retire. Her intent was to hand the weed business over to Dickie. Things didn't quite work out."

"Raylan's not too popular over in Bennett. Good thing I brought my rifle. We might end up in another shoot-out." Tim rubbed his chin and peered at me. "Ever been in a shoot-out?"

Gulp. "Sort of."

Givens got back behind the wheel and eased the Explorer back onto the road. "What do you mean, sort of? If there was at least two people shootin' at each other, it's a shoot-out."

Tim twisted around in his seat. "C'mon, spill. Tell me what it's really like in the private sector. Who shot at you?"

I sighed. "I wasn't working as a bounty hunter at the time."

Tim's mouth curved upwards. "I like this story already. Keep going."

"I got sick of rolling in garbage and being shot at," I explained, "so I tried a job at the button factory and got fired for being late. That was actually a good thing because the boss was a creep -"

"Back up." Tim raised an eyebrow. "Why was he a creep? Because he fired you for being late?"

"No, because he said I could keep my job if I'd perform a very, very lewd act involving nakedness and bodily fluids." I shuddered, remembering Mr. Alizzi. "His exact words. Also I needed to wear something revealing that showed my breasts. Still think I'm overstating it?"

"Raylan, didn't the junior marshal dress code have that exact requirement?"

"You ain't much more than a junior marshal yourself, Tim," Givens commented. "Go on, Steph."

I really didn't want to tell this story so I said it as fast as I could. "I took a job at Kan Klean, working for Mama Macaroni, a scary old lady with a giant mole on her face. That mole was like the dermatological equivalent of a seven-car crash with blood and guts spread on the highway. She was miserable and mean. Anyway, my friend Lula from the bonds office came in for her dry cleaning, words were exchanged between Lula and Mama, Mama refused to give Lula her dry cleaning and Lula pulled her Glock. Mama pulled her semi-automatic and started shooting at us. That was my last day at Kan Klean."

"Well, hell," Tim said, turning around to look at Givens. "Forget Winona. _This_ is your perfect woman right here. It's like you were made for each other."

Unh. Mental head slap.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

We pulled up in front of a faded red clapboard house where Luther Daley lived and Givens turned around to look at me. "You see what I see, Junior Marshal Plum?"

It was impossible to miss Joyce Barndhardt's shiny black Mercedes GLK parked in the gravel driveway. The house, which was shabby to begin with, looked even shabbier next to the expensive SUV. "Yeah."

"I'm going to let you handle this." He unclipped the badge from his belt and pulled a silver chain from his pocket, hanging the badge on it. Then he slipped the chain around my neck. "Don't say a word, Gutterson. Not one word."

Tim mimed zipping his lips.

Givens got out of the Explorer and pulled his shotgun from the back. He removed the shells and grinned at me. "Let me teach you a little trade secret, Junior Marshal Plum. Nothing gets you instant respect like the sound of a shotgun bein' racked. Here's how you do it."

He racked it and he was right, the sound nearly made me jump out of my skin.

"It's not loaded but it won't have to be. Joyce isn't stupid enough to fire on you if you're wearin' my badge, my jacket and armed with this. Rack it for me." He handed me the shotgun.

I hesitated for only a moment. This was it. The perfect payback for every humiliation. Joyce was going to wet her pants. I racked the shotgun and tried not to flinch at the sound.

"Don't be scared if you're the one pointin' the shotgun." Givens came around behind me and adjusted my grip. His lips brushed my ear as he whispered. "And remember what I said about those cow eyes."

My eyes narrowed and my expression shifted into the mean look that I imitated earlier. Then I racked the shotgun like I'd been doing it all my life.

Givens squeezed my shoulder. "Perfect. Let's send Miss Barnhardt back to Trenton."


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Givens gestured and sent Tim around the back of the house while we quietly approached the front to discover the door was not only unlocked but also ajar. Holding up a hand, Givens stilled and listened, his right hand resting on his gun. His eyes met mine and he flashed a reassuring smile at me.

Suddenly, there was the sharp sound of a hand meeting flesh. Then we heard Joyce snarling, "Tell me, you lying little weasel!" This was followed by another slap and grunting.

Givens opened the door slowly and beckoned me to follow him into Daley's house. Despite the shabby exterior, the inside was homey, if a little cluttered. There were pictures of a smiling family on the walls. I peered at one of the photos and saw that Luther was in his early thirties, with longish blond hair and a nice smile. His wife was also blond and a little chubby but they looked cute together and they had two sons. I couldn't imagine what this nice-looking man was doing mixed up in the wacky tabacky business or with Dalton Crowe.

The grunting grew louder and there were more slaps.

Eyes narrowed, Givens pointed towards the dining room and then gestured for me to go first. He gave my shoulder a pat, letting me know he was watching my back. I raised the shotgun, holding it the way he taught me, and walked into the dining room. My mouth dropped open when I saw what was happening.

Joyce was bare-assed on the dining room table, screwing Luther Daley.

It was exactly how I caught her screwing my husband.

I saw red. My jaw clenched and I racked the shotgun. Hard.

Luther froze and Joyce looked past Luther to see me with the shotgun. Her mouth dropped open into an 'O' of surprise. Then she snapped her mouth shut and her piggy little eyes narrowed meanly. "Get lost, Plum."

"Both of you on your tummies. Now!" Givens ordered.

Luther glanced over his shoulder. "You mind if I pull my pants up?"

"I'd mind if you didn't, Luther," Givens said.

Luther yanked up his jeans, zipped up and got on the floor.

Joyce reached into her purse, which was next to her on the dining room table and came up with a Glock, pointing it at me. Around her neck was a chain with a marshal's star that looked a lot like the one I was wearing. I didn't know what was worse, having to see her naked or looking down the barrel of a gun. "I'm not fooled by that phony badge, Stephanie. I got mine on the Internet, too."

Givens reached into his back pocket with his left hand and pulled out his identification wallet, displaying it to Joyce. "The badge is real, Joyce, and I'd advise you to put the gun down before you're in any worse trouble than you are now."

She snorted at him. "Her aim sucks."

"You ever seen her with a shotgun? Pretty hard to miss at this range." His tone was calm, almost hypnotic. "Bein' shot with a shotgun at this range could cut you in half, Joyce. And even if by some miracle Steph here misses, I won't. But if I did, Deputy Gutterson who's right behind you won't."

Joyce glanced behind her and saw Tim standing in the doorway, his gun drawn and pointed at her. He gave her a little finger wave and a cocky little grin. The smug grin on her face vanished and she slowly set the gun down and laid face-down on the floor.

Givens walked over, kicked the gun away and planted his boot on her ass. He snapped the handcuffs on her hard enough to make her cry out. "You're under arrest and you're gonna be charged with impersonating a federal law enforcement officer, bounty huntin' without a warrant _again_, assault with a deadly weapon, carryin' concealed, havin' an unlicensed weapon and bein' an all-around pain in the ass. This is gonna take years from you, Joyce."

No cow eyes, I told myself. Junior marshals don't make cow eyes.

Joyce sniffled.

No cow eyes. No cow eyes. And absolutely _no_ humping Givens' leg. No matter how much I'd always wanted to see Joyce cry.

"Those prisons in New Jersey ain't nothin' compared to prisons here in Kentucky," Givens went on. "Reporters never come here to check on whether prisoners are bein' mistreated. And you know, we still have prison work crews doin' hard labor. Thanks to all that gender equality stuff, it ain't just the men doin' it."

"Oh God," Joyce hiccupped.

Givens twisted his Tony Lama boot on Joyce's ass. "Now, I ran your name Joyce. You're not an outlaw. You're just stupid and kinda slutty. If you got the hell out of Kentucky an' promised never to come back, I _might_ consider lettin' you go so you don't burden the taxpayers on account of your unbelievable stupidity."

"I-I'll go. I swear!" Her mascara was running and Joyce looked like a rabid ferret.

Must. Not. Make. Cow. Eyes.

Bending down, Givens looked into Joyce's eyes and if it had been me on the receiving end of that stare, I would have made a puddle on the floor. "You make me regret this, Joyce, an' we're gonna have a huge problem. You got me?"

She nodded quickly, scared past the point of speech.

My nipples were hard under the nylon windbreaker and if Givens did one more thing to humiliate Joyce, I was probably going to have an orgasm.

He yanked her to her feet by her hair.

I clenched my knees together and bit my lips.

"Get your skanky ass dressed and then get," he snarled.

Oh boy. I sucked in a breath. If Ranger was Batman, Givens was Green Lantern. He put on his badge and was the most powerful thing in the universe. I could be a Green Lantern, too! All I needed was a badge of my own. Who needed to be Wonder Woman when you could be a member of the Green Lantern Corps.?

To hell with it, I decided. I made cow eyes at my Green Lantern.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

"All clear," Tim announced, coming back inside. "The Wicked Witch of the North is on her way home to Jersey."

"That took a little while," Givens commented, eyeing Tim suspiciously.

Tim shrugged. "She needed directions."

"And your compass just happened to be pointin' north, huh?"

No. He couldn't have. Not with _Joyce_. Ewww!

Grinning, Tim said, "Like the Rangers say, Lo Que Sea, Cuando Sea, Donde Sea. Anything, anytime, anywhere."

"Ewwww! Joyce has sex with farm animals and my cousin Vinnie who has sex with farm animals!" I stared at Tim, stupefied by his lack of judgment. "What possessed you?"

"They were real."

Unh. Mental head slap. Of course. Joyce's boobs were responsible for leading yet another man astray.

"She has sex with farm animals?" Luther raised his head from the floor and looked worried. "I hope I didn't catch some Jersey farm animal disease."

"Serves you right for cheating on your wife," I told him.

Givens flashed me a quick smile before turning his attention back to the man lying on the floor. "You can get up now, Luther."

Luther got to his feet and ran a hand through his hair. "Thanks. I had no idea she wasn't a real marshal or that she was such a slut –"

"Luther. Stop talking." Holding up his hand, Givens narrowed his eyes at Luther. "I don't care about Joyce Barnhardt. Your stupidity in that regard is your own concern. What I want to know is what you're doin' mixed up with the Crowes."

Luther started to open his mouth but Givens cut him off again.

"Before you start lyin' to me, I know Dalton's usin' your car and I also saw that patch of weed out back. Does Dickie know you're growin'?"

There it was. The technique Givens was trying to teach me, finding a weak spot and exploiting it. In this case, it was Luther's fear of Dickie Bennett and the knowledge he'd been caught red-handed doing something that wasn't illegal, namely loaning his car to Dalton Crowe. But the fear of Dickie would convince Luther that lending the car was a bad thing to do. Givens also took control of the questioning by not letting Luther speak until he gave him permission. I wasn't sure I could accomplish that kind of control without a badge and a gun but it was a treat to see Givens at work. Ranger usually just relied on fear to get someone talking and I knew for a fact I'd never be as bad-ass as Ranger. But I could maybe be like Givens, if I practiced.

Luther shifted from one foot to the other and looked like he was thinking really hard about how to answer Givens. "It ain't illegal for me to loan my car to nobody."

I winced inwardly. That was the wrong way to go. I wondered what Givens would do next. Tim was smirking so I guess he knew what was coming.

Givens heaved a deep, weary sigh, like he was very disappointed with Luther's answer. "I suppose not but it _is_ illegal to grow marijuana. I guess I'm gonna have to call Sheriff Mooney and with your record, you're gonna get the max for this. Mooney and Dickie are real tight so you might not even make it to trial, if you know what I mean. Stephanie, would you please call Sheriff Mooney while I read Luther here his rights?"

I had no idea who Sheriff Mooney was but as Givens made eye contact with me, he nodded very slightly, asking me to play along. It was exhilarating to be included, the way being a bounty hunter usually wasn't. I pulled out my cell phone and hoped what Givens wanted was for me to be good cop to his bad cop. "Are you sure, Raylan? Couldn't we cut him a break if he gives us the Crowes?"

He shook his head. "He's not gonna give us anything. Call Nick Mooney. Let him deal with this. We can take care of the Crowes without Luther's useless information."

"Yes, sir." I started punching in my home phone number.

"Wait! I'll talk!"

Givens smiled and it was that feral smile that scared the crap out of me. "I'm all ears, Luther."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Luther pulled one of the dining room chairs over and dropped into it. His hands were shaking. "Mooney ain't Dickie's man."

"Whose man is he?" The question popped out of my mouth before I could stop it. I fought the urge to look at Givens and instead kept my eyes on Luther. "We can protect you from Mooney."

"He...he's Boyd Crowder's man. Has been ever since Doyle Bennett bought it." Luther drew a shaky breath and kept his eyes on me. It was obvious he preferred my good cop to Givens' scary bad cop.

I knew the name Doyle Bennett from Tim's explanation earlier but I had no idea who Boyd Crowder was and whether this information important. I glanced back at Givens, waiting for him to pick up the questioning but he gave me a look that told me to keep going. "How do you know he's working for Crowder?"

"Just…rumors."

This was like pulling teeth. What would Green Lantern do? "I bet if we had Mooney pick you up you could find out first hand if those rumors are true."

"No! Please!" Luther went white and started to shake. "I swear it's just rumors. I work delivery sometimes for Boyd and he told me not to worry about bein' stopped for speedin' by any of Mooney's people when I'm deliverin'."

"How are Dewey and Dalton Crowe mixed up in this?" Givens cut in. "Are they doing deliveries too?"

Luther shook his head. "I don't know. I swear I don't. Dalton just bought the car off me, is all. I just ain't got around to changin' over the title."

"But why _you_?" Givens wanted to know. "Plenty of other people sell cars. What's so special about yours, Luther?"

"I guess Dewey must've remembered I told him I buy cheap junkers an' fix 'em up to sell 'em for cheap so he sent his dad. I gave him a good deal on that car." Luther swallowed. "Me an' Dewey met inside. I was gettin' out just as he was startin' his stretch."

Givens held out a business card. "You hear from Dewey or his daddy again, you call me. Understand?"

"Wh-what about Mooney?" Luther asked. "Ain't you gonna protect me?"

"Sure. We'll be doin' it quietly, in the background. You won't even know we're there." Givens adjusted his hat and headed for the door. Tim and I followed. He was silent until we got back to the Explorer and then he turned, taking the shotgun from me. "Nice work, Stephanie. You played it just like I wanted you to do. I wasn't expectin' you to jump in after that but you handled yourself well. You did good work today."

I stared at him, dumbfounded. Nobody _ever_ said that to me.

My cell phone buzzed as I got into the SUV and when I pulled the phone out of my bag I noticed that I had three missed calls from Morelli. This was him again. "Hi."

"Were you having sex?" he asked.

"What kind of question is that?"

"You sound breathy and the only time you sound like that - exactly like that - is right after we've done the deed."

"I am _not_ breathy!" I rolled my eyes. "I'm working."

There was a soft, resigned sigh. "Are you close to catching your skip yet?"

"We're making progress."

"We? You and Deputy Givens?"

"Yes." Ohmigod. Was Morelli jealous? "I've been watching him work. You wouldn't believe how much I've learned about questioning people. I bet I'd have learned just as much if you ever let me see you work."

"You've seen me work plenty of times," Morelli shot back. "Questioning witnesses and taking statements every time someone shoots at you or you find a dead body or something of yours goes boom."

"That doesn't count! I'm in shock or unconscious when you're doing that!"

Tim turned around in his seat to eavesdrop properly. His mouth was twitching.

I lowered my voice. "Givens is incredible! You have to see him questioning people. He's got this really mean look that scares the crap out of people and they just tell him stuff! And he made Joyce Barnhardt cry! It was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"Do I need to be worried about you and this Givens guy, cupcake?" Morelli wanted to know. "Were you two having sex? Is that why you're all breathy?"

"We are _not_ having sex!"

The Explorer lurched to a halt as Givens jammed on the brakes. Tim had a hand clapped over his mouth and he was shaking with silent laughter.

"I have to go," I said. "I'm working."

"But -"

"Later, Morelli" I hit the off button and dropped the phone back into my bag, enjoying being the one with the more important job for a change. "I could get used to this."


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17 

"Should we check in with Art before you go question Boyd Crowder?" Tim asked as Givens put the car back in gear. "In light of, you know, things?"

Givens took his hat off and frisbeed it into the back seat. "I'm not gonna question Boyd."

"Really?" Tim turned around to look at me. "Raylan and Boyd have what you might call a history together –"

"Stephanie is gonna question Boyd," Givens declared firmly, interrupting Tim's explanation. "And she's gonna do it cold. No history other than what she already knows from Luther. You hear me, Steph?"

I heard him. I wasn't sure I wanted to hear him. Everything I knew about Boyd Crowder, which admittedly wasn't much, was that he was a drug dealer who had the local cops in his pocket. That was enough to scare the crap out of me. "Why?"

"Because I have a plan. You go in there an' do your bounty hunter thing, however you normally do it in Trenton. None of the marshal stuff I taught you, okay?" His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. "You'll have to give me back my badge and take off my jacket before you have a word with Boyd but I believe your T-shirt should be dry by now."

I reluctantly took the badge off and handed it back to him.

"Don't look so sad, Junior Marshal Plum. We'll start gettin' you into shape for the fall when they take applications and you'll be on your way to gettin' a badge of your own." Givens turned to Tim. "Eyes front Gutterson. No peeking at Junior Marshal Plum. You've seen enough real ones for one day."

xxxxxxxxxxxx

The Crowder house was a simple two-story affair with a big front porch and a few pickup trucks parked in the driveway. It needed repairs but it wasn't as shabby as other homes I'd seen. Still, it didn't look like the residence of a drug kingpin. I pulled the Explorer in next to an ancient F-150 and hoped Givens and Tim wouldn't be waiting long where I left them down the road. What I was about to do was second nature but where I was doing it and with whom was worrying me. Sure, I talked to drug dealers but usually I had Lula at my side so we could run like hell together.

I gathered my courage, reasoning that Givens wouldn't send me in alone unless he was sure I'd come back out again and still in one piece. Besides, I had my big shoulder bag with my pepper spray and fully charged stun gun. If Givens was sure I could do it, then I could, right?

Maybe.

I knocked on the door and waited.

After a moment, a gorgeous blonde woman opened the door, peering at me curiously. She was a little older than me and a total knockout. I could smell something delicious cooking in the kitchen behind her. Country music played softly in the background. "Hello."

"Hi. Is Mr. Crowder available?" I gave her a friendly smile as I tried to make sense of what I was encountering. Where were the strung out hangers-on and wanna-be gangstas?

She cocked her head to the side, eyes narrowing as she considered my request. This woman, whoever she was, was clearly not sampling the merchandise. She was sharp. "Who are you?"

"Ava. It's fine. I'll deal with this." A man in his late thirties or early forties gently eased past the blonde woman and outside onto the porch with me. He had wild black hair that was starting to recede and an intense stare that rivaled Givens'. "I'm Boyd Crowder. Who might you be and what brings you to my home?"

So this was Boyd Crowder. He didn't look like a drug dealer but then again, this wasn't Trenton and Givens was proof that appearances could deceive.

"I represent the Vincent Plum Agency," I told Boyd, handing him my card. "I was wondering if you might be able to help me find Dewey Crowe. He missed his court date in Collier County, Florida and needs to reschedule –"

"Stephanie Plum," he read. "You're a bounty hunter?" Boyd smiled, showing off a set of the whitest choppers I'd ever seen on a human being. They wouldn't have been out of place on a shark, though. His dark eyes swept over me again, re-assessing me now that he knew my profession and then he looked past me to confirm that I was alone.

I corrected him. "I'm a bail enforcement agent. Have you seen Mr. Crowe? I'd really appreciate any help you could give me."

"Would you mind telling me what heinous crime Dewey Crowe perpetrated to bring you all the way to my doorstep from the Garden State looking for him?" Boyd asked.

"Allegedly perpetrated," I said. "He hasn't been tried yet. Mr. Crowe was arrested for shoplifting and indecent exposure." I hesitated and then explained the circumstances, just to see his reaction.

"That sounds like Dewey Crowe," Boyd sighed, shaking his head sadly. Anyone else would have laughed but Givens was right. Boyd knew Dewey and this was just another Dewey screw-up in a long list of Dewey screw-ups. "I'm afraid I can't help you. I haven't seen Dewey lately."

"Do you have any ideas where he might be staying or whether he has any friends or girlfriends he might be staying with?" I asked. If this were the Burg, I'd know this already because gossip travels fast in the Burg. Unfortunately, the counties of Harlan and Bennett were vast unknown wildernesses to me and none of the locals seemed like they were interested in sharing gossip with me. Probably because I was from the North and they were still holding a grudge. I'd have to ask Givens about that later. Assuming I survived what I was doing now.

"I surely do apologize but I haven't the slightest idea." His gaze sharpened and again I was reminded Givens. I was sure this man also had the ability to stare straight into my head and know exactly what I was thinking. "May I ask why you're here?"

"My office received word that Mr. Crowe was in Kentucky." There. Nice and vague.

"I meant, why are you _here_, on my doorstep?" Boyd asked.

Gulp. "I've been speaking to other people who know Dewey and your name came up a couple of times."

"In what context?" The smile was firmly in place but it didn't reach his eyes. Those dark eyes were like two black holes. Vast, merciless and deadly.

"Just that you'd be worth speaking to." It wasn't really a lie. Givens said it would be worth speaking to Boyd although the value of this conversation was escaping me at the moment. "Thanks for your time, Mr. Crowder. If you see Dewey, would you ask him to please call me?"

The blindingly white smile grew impossibly wider and it finally reached his eyes. Like everyone else, Boyd Crowder found the idea of Stephanie Plum, Bounty Hunter to be amusing. "I would be delighted."

Sure he would. I thanked him and got back in the car, wondering why Givens sent me here when he probably knew this was going to be a big waste of time.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They were exactly where I left them and Tim waved as I pulled onto the shoulder of the road near the small clearing. He was grinning. "Raylan was telling me this secluded little spot was where he and his friends used to hang out when they cut school. As you can imagine, little Raylan was quite the delinquent."

Givens rolled his eyes and came up to me. "How'd it go? Tell me everything."

I told him and then I had tell him twice more. During the second that third run-throughs, Givens asked a bunch of questions and I started thinking that I screwed up somehow. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" He looked down at me, his expression curious.

"For messing up. He didn't tell me anything."

His hand dropped onto my shoulder, squeezing it affectionately. "Are you kiddin'? You were perfect. I knew Boyd wasn't gonna tell you anything. The point of that little exercise was to confuse him and get him to start lookin' for Dewey to find out what the hell is going on. If a bounty hunter is gonna show up outta the blue thinkin' there's a connection, he knows I won't be far behind. Boyd probably don't know what hit him."

So that was why I went in cold. Givens knew that Boyd would be able to tell I was doing the hunting for him. The man was a genius.

"I've got good news," Givens said, squeezing my shoulder again. "The motel is back open and we've got you a room. And there's somethin' else you'll appreciate. Tim here agrees you've earned a trip to the Fayette Mall, considerin' all you got are the clothes on your back."

Like I said, the man was a genius.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Are you sure?" Tim asked for the umpteenth time.

"Stephanie right next door," Givens repeated. "I can keep an eye on her while you get a change of clothes. Besides, you already swept the room and the perimeter. She's perfectly safe. You'll be back by the time she's done with her shower and we'll order some pizzas. Okay?"

Tim cut his eyes to me and nodded. "All right then. I could use a break to recover from the double whammy of the lingerie department and the shoe department."

I rolled my eyes and shut the motel room door, grateful for the chance to finally shower the mop water cooties off. A good, hot shower would give me a chance to go over what we knew so far and afterwards, I could compare ideas with Givens.

I stripped out of my clothes, went into the bathroom and laid the bath mat on the floor. It had been white once but was sort of yellow after too many bleachings and stiffer than a board. I pushed the curtain aside to turn on the water.

Luther Daley was slumped back in my shower.

There was a nice, neat bullet hole in the middle of his forehead and his brains were splattered messily on the tile behind him.

The next thing I knew, I was banging on Givens' door.

He opened it, staring down at me with his mouth hanging open.

"L-Luther...dead...shower..."

I realized I was stark naked just as I fainted.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

(Raylan's Interlude - 3) 

I caught Stephanie as she collapsed and carried her inside to lay her on our bed while trying not to notice she was bare-naked. It was a lot easier not to peek at Stephanie with Winona staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed at me.

"Is that your bounty-hunter friend?" Winona managed finally. "Where are her clothes?"

"In her room." I tugged the sheet over Stephanie.

"Why is she _here_? _Naked_?"

"There's a problem in her room."

"A naked problem?"

"A dead body."

"What?"

"A dead body," I repeated. "You mind keepin' an eye on her? I think she's a little freaked out."

Winona was gawking at me, hands on hips. "No shit she's freaked out! She was so scared she ran over to tell you without clothes."

I could give Winona the fight she wanted or I could go check on the dead body next door. True, it wasn't going anywhere but neither were Winona and the fight over bare-naked Stephanie. Besides, the odds were good someone heard the commotion, saw Stephanie's cute little bare behind and called the cops. I wanted a look at Luther before they got here. "Be right back."

"Raylan!"

Yeah I was definitely gonna catch hell from Winona.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

There were no suspicious cars in the parking lot and no cars mysteriously out of commission on Route 421. Tim swept the room earlier, so how did he miss a dead body in Stephanie's shower? I peered into the bathroom and saw why. The window was wide open and the cool breeze blowing in kept it from smelling too badly. Still, it was sloppy and I knew Tim was gonna catch hell from Art.

Someone blew poor Luther Daley's brains out in this room, which put the time of death somewhere between the time we were told the room was reserved and the long drive back from Harlan plus the hour at the mall. All told, that was a four hour window of opportunity.

Aside from the hole in his head, Luther had no bruises or rope burns to indicate he was in this room by force. My guess was he'd come here to speak to Stephanie or to give her something and the killer tracked him here, forcing him into the shower at gunpoint. The million dollar question was who did it. Dewey Crowe was a lot of things but he wasn't a cold-blooded killer. I didn't know enough about Dalton but I knew he had a temper and he didn't much care for Stephanie. Still, I wasn't so sure this was Dalton's handiwork.

I called it in and then called Art who I knew would call Tim and Rachel. The motel was going to be a circus for the second night in a row. How much more would the motel's managers put up with before they refused to let me stay here anymore? Probably this was the last straw.

I was about to leave the room when I remembered that Stephanie had no clothes. The shopping bags from Macy's were untouched, sitting next to the bed. I grabbed them, those ugly boots she wore and her purse, getting them out before the room and its contents got sealed behind crime-scene tape.

Winona glared at me as I set the bags and the rest of Stephanie's stuff down in our room. I was pretty sure she knew a bare-naked Stephanie didn't come knocking for a booty call so the glare was more of a 'what the hell are you mixed up in now' glare.

"The dead body was in her shower," I explained.

"I don't know why I didn't guess that." Winona threw up her hands. "It all makes sense now. Is the criminal mastermind someone from Harlan?"

Before I had to dignify that with a response, Stephanie groaned.

"Ohmigod." She opened her eyes, saw me and covered her face with both hands. "I'm mortified."

"Aw, c'mon now. Anybody woulda saw that, they'd've fainted, too."

Stephanie kept her hands over her face. "Did somebody call Morelli?"

"I called LPD," I told her. "You want me to call Morelli and tell him what happened?"

"No!" She sat up, clutching the sheet tightly. "He could deal with me finding a dead body but I don't want him to hear about the naked part 'til later. Like maybe a decade from now."

"Morelli's her boyfriend," I explained to Winona, deciding not to mention Ranger. "He's works homicide in Trenton."

Winona's eyes cut to me and then to Stephanie as she digested this crucial bit of information. Then she snapped into action, draping an arm around Stephanie, deciding what was a little nudity between friends since Steph wasn't trying to move in on me. "Come on, honey, let's get you dressed before the police get here."

"Do I have time for a shower?" Stephanie asked me. "I'm still itchy from the mop water."

"Mop water?" Winona asked.

"One of the people we questioned was a janitor. He dumped a bucket of God knows what on her." I supposed this was good practice for the questions Art was going to ask.

Winona looked from me to Stephanie and then back again. Her lips started to twitch and then her shoulders shook with silent laughter. "Maybe we should think about scuba gear, Cowboy. It'll save on the dry-cleaning."

Why me?

"I suppose it's better than someone shootin' at you or blowing things up," Winona chuckled.

"I'd rather be shot at than be sticky," I said. "Bein' shot at's only a problem if you get hit an' it's over when you shoot the other guy or he runs out of bullets. Bein' sticky lasts 'til you take a shower an' feels yucky."

Winona and Stephanie were looking at me like I was speaking Mongolian.

"What?" I asked.

"Why me?" they asked simultaneously.

Oh boy.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Art was not pleased. I knew he wouldn't be and I also knew the target wasn't going to be me, for a change. It was going to be Gutterson for screwing up twice.

"I can see missing a dead body -_maybe_- but why would you leave her alone when you're supposed to be protecting her? I would have come myself to relieve you. You know that. Cripes, Gutterson." Art wasn't yelling. He was coming down on Tim with that look of disappointment that made me feel guilty for months when I was on the receiving end.

"It was my fault." Stephanie came up beside me. Her color was back to normal and she was calm enough to lie for Tim. Good girl. "I wanted privacy while I showered and Tim's kind of creepy so I told him to go. We argued and I said some things that weren't nice. I'm sorry, Tim."

Tim covered it fast but I knew he just developed a whole new appreciation for Junior Marshal Plum. "I'm sorry I didn't bring your pizza."

Art stared hard at Gutterson, then he looked at me and finally back at Stephanie. He knew we were full of shit but it wasn't like he could scold Stephanie. And then he scolded Stephanie anyway. "Protection only works if you let us do our job, Miss Plum. I can yank your protection detail if that's what you want. Otherwise, you do what Tim and Raylan say, got me?"

"I'm sorry," Stephanie said again.

I was saved from having to apologize or being scolded or both by a call from Tom Bergen. Stepping away for a little privacy, I answered, "Hey, Tom."

"That bounty hunter from the other day," he began without bothering to say hello. "She still around, do you know?"

"What happened?" Better to avoid answering until I had some facts.

Tom sighed. "That doper whore, Ellen May, you know her from Audrey's? She set one of Dickie Bennett's drying sheds on fire. Claimed it was - and I quote - a shoe barbecue. Says it was her good friend Stephanie's idea."

Uh-oh. "Anybody hurt?"

"Just a couple dozen pairs of women's shoes and the shed. So about that bounty hunter..."

"She's been with me all day," I said quickly. "This isn't her doing."

"Hunh." Tom was silent for a moment, no doubt wondering why I had a bounty hunter riding with me.

"You mind if I come by for a look and a word with Ellen May?"

Of course he didn't.

Art, on the other hand, he'd mind plenty. But nobody said he needed to know.

I strolled back over and grabbed hold of Stephanie's arm. "I'll take Stephanie back to the safe house. Tim, why don't you take Winona and meet us there? Art, Stephanie's still in shock. How about I bring her in first thing tomorrow to go over what happened?"

Art frowned as he looked at me. "There anything going on between the two of you?"

"No!" Stephanie rolled her eyes. "Why do people keep asking that? I have a boyfriend."

"He's mentoring Junior Marshal Plum," Tim put in. That boy needed to learn when to shut his mouth.

"Junior Marshal?" Art echoed. "You mean like those little plastic badges we give to the kids? Raylan, may I ask what the hell you're doing or do I not want to know?"

"He's letting me watch him work," Stephanie said. "Like an intern."

"I see." Art was frowning now. "Raylan, where's your car?"

And that was my cue to leave. I tugged Stephanie along and called over my shoulder, "It's in the shop, Art. See you in the morning."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It took Stephanie all of five minutes to realize we weren't going to Winona's house. That was four minutes longer than I expected. Still, she had a rough night so I decided to cut her some slack.

"We're going back to Harlan, aren't we?" she asked.

"We're going to Bennett. Your pal Ellen May had a little shoe barbecue. I'm guessing our shoe dealer ain't gonna be too happy with her for that." Before I could say anything more, my cell phone rang.

"You ditched me," Tim complained. "I'm dropping Winona off and then I'm gonna be about fifteen minutes behind you to Harlan. Rachel's on her way to babysit Winona."

"We're going to Bennett to check out a shoe barbecue."

Tim snorted. "No shit! I can't believe you were gonna let me miss that."

"That's punishment for missing the dead body in the shower," I told him. "Damn sloppy of you, Gutterson. You're gonna have to inventory the burnt shoes an' categorize 'em by heel height."

Stephanie was grinning as she looked over at me and she was making cow eyes. As long as she didn't do that in front of Winona, I didn't mind.

I gave Tim the directions and ended the call. "Cow eyes, Plum. Thought I warned you about that."

"I want to be you when I grow up."

Well, shit. Like I said, I didn't mind the cow eyes so much.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

The long drive to Bennett was spent going over what we knew. I half-expected Givens to make a crack about me panicking and showing up at his door bare-assed but he didn't mention it. Instead, we compared notes on why we each had a feeling it wasn't Dalton Crowe that popped Daley.

"This was cold-blooded," Givens said. "Dalton's more the type to beat someone to death an' I just don't see the motive."

I nodded. "If all Luther did was sell him a car..."

"Luther knew somethin' else, somethin' he only felt comfortable telling you in person. Which begs the question how he knew where you were stayin'. He only had your cell number."

"My office number is on my card. Connie could have slipped up and told him where I was staying." Connie Rosolli was the office manager. She was a little older, a little heavier and a little more Italian than me.

Givens sighed. "You might want to have a word with her about that."

"I'm sure it was an accident. She's not used to me working outside the Burg." My cell phone rang. It was Morelli. Probably he just heard about Luther. I wondered if he heard the part about me being naked. "Hi."

"I just got a call from a detective in Lexington about a dead body in your motel room shower. Are you okay?" Morelli asked.

"I'm fine," I lied.

"Liar. You're voice is quavering. It only quavers like that when you're scared."

"I'm not quavering. Must be the cell phone reception. It's spotty in these hollers."

Morelli snorted softly. "Hollers, huh? Are you going native on me?"

"Just picking up some of the local lingo."

"What about the local dress code? Plaid flannel shirts are sexy."

"Since when? You always said plaid flannel was the equivalent of granny panties."

"Just a plaid flannel shirt. Nothing else." His voice dropped into a husky timbre that sent a shiver down my spine. "Speaking of nothing else, I heard you flashed the Mount Aire Motel."

"You're scum, Morelli!"

"Did your flannel wearing, tobacco-chewing buddy see you naked?"

My left eye started to twitch. I rolled down my window and held the cell phone outside as I shouted, "Gee, you're breaking up. Sorry, Morelli."

Givens glanced over at me. "I take it he heard you were naked."

"He also said plaid flannel was sexy." I made a dismissive gesture but the truth was, I missed Morelli. Bad.

"No accounting for taste," Givens smirked as we pulled up next to an SUV bearing the words Kentucky State Police. "Brace yourself. What you're about to see is even worse than Daley's brains splattered in your shower. You're gonna have to see the corpses of dozens of shoes. You think you can handle that with your clothes on and without passin' out?"

Why me?

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Why is she here?" State Trooper Tom Bergen eyed me suspiciously as we approached the smoldering ruin of a large wooden structure. It looked kind of like a barn but Givens explained it was used for drying marijuana.

Givens shook hands with Bergen, flashing him a friendly smile. "I'm lettin' her watch me work. Like an intern. Besides, she might be able to identify the shoes so we can notify the next of kin."

The two enjoyed a hearty chuckle over that one. I rolled my eyes.

"Ellen May's in the back of my vehicle," Tom explained. "I was a little hesitant to send her with Mooney's boys, being this is Dickie's property."

"My company can bond her out," I suggested. "We can get her out of there before they finish sharpening their shivs."

"Not a bad plan," Tom conceded, "but that won't keep her safe when she's on the outside."

Givens rubbed his chin making a show of thinking about options. Probably he had his play mapped out before we even left the Mount Aire's parking lot. "Let me have a word, see if she knows anything that might qualify her for WITSEC. C'mon, Steph."

Ellen May was passed out in the back of the SUV and startled awake when Givens opened the door, giving him a bleary, stoned smile. "Hi, Dewey."

"Raylan," he corrected her, showing his badge. "Dewey pretended to be me but I'm the real one. You remember Stephanie, right?"

"Oh hey, your girlfriend. We had that threesome." She sighed happily as she remembered something that never happened. "You're hung like a bull and you lasted for _hours_."

Behind us, Tom snickered.

I elbowed Givens aside. "Hi, May Ellen."

"It's Ellen May."

Whatever. "Was Dewey here? Is that why you had a shoe barbecue?"

Ellen May leaned forward, her eyes narrowing as she pointed at Givens. "Was he here? Duh! He's right there!"

"That's Raylan, not Dewey."

"And Raylan's your boyfriend."

Ah, stoner logic. I could only imagine the conversations Ellen May and my friend, Walter "Moon Man" Dunphy, affectionately known as Mooner could have if they were locked in a room together. "That's right. Raylan's the one with the nice ass."

"An' Dewey's the one with the pencil dick."

"Exactly." Having seen the photos taken by the old ladies at that K-Mart, pencil dick was an apt description. "So about that shoe barbecue..."

"I wanted to call you but my cell phone wasn't workin'." Ellen May tried to look contrite and pathetic but just ended up looking dopey. "It took all my tips to buy that big thing of kerosene. Well, most of 'em. After I bought me a li'l somethin' to screw up my courage."

I nodded sympathetically. "I don't blame you, this being Dickie's shed and all."

Ellen May sucked in a breath and went into full-scale panic. "What? Oh shit! This is _Dickie's_ shed? Oh shit! Oh, I am so fucked! He's gonna kill me!"

"We can see about putting you into witness protection," I offered. I was completely over my head at this point so I turned to Givens for help. "Right, Raylan?"

"That's right, _darlin_', we can. Why don't you tell Ellen May all about it?" His eyes were gleaming and he was grinning wickedly. "Go ahead, honey. You keep talkin'. You know how it turns me on watchin' you work."

Yikes. I thought of every cop show I'd ever seen and then I channeled my inner Cagney and Lacey. I was going to need both of them if I hoped not to screw this up. "We can help you but you have to help us, May Ellen -"

"It's Ellen May, damn it," she snapped, suddenly frighteningly sober and a little mean. "Just tell me what you want."

"Why this shed?" I asked. "Was Dewey supposed to be here?"

She shook her head. "No, he wasn't _supposed_ to be here."

Damn.

"He _was_ here," she went on. "I meet him sometimes outside of Audrey's when he can't afford it and I give him a special deal. So I met him in our spot an' I followed him here an' he said he didn't have no money, like usual, but I could have two pairs of them shoes with the funny names. Then I asked him about that fat cow, Shirlene, an' he said it wasn't him that gave her the shoes so I said I had somethin' special for him in my car an' I got the kerosene. And then I lit a match. The fire was real pretty."

I wasn't an expert but none of that sounded like it would get her anything resembling witness protection. "Your spot, the one where you meet Dewey, where is it?"

"We change it up so we don't get caught but the last few times've been at this old house on Indian Line. It belonged to that marshal's mama, you know, the one Dewey dressed up as?" She leaned forward and attempted to whisper but it came out loud. "Dickie killed her."

Okay, that was enough witness questioning for me. I turned to Givens and there was a new, scary look in his face. It was even scarier than the feral one and that was enough to scare the crap out of me. This one was barely repressed rage and it made me want to run all the way back to Trenton and hide under the covers. I decided to let him have a moment or a decade to calm down. "Uh, Tom, about that bond..."

"That'd be appreciated." He cut his eyes to Givens and then back to me, his expression worried as he saw Givens' jaw clenching and posture going rigid. "You think you can keep your boyfriend here out of trouble?"

Gulp. "Reinforcements are on their way. You know Tim Gutterson?"

"I do and I can wait with you til he gets here." Tom reached into the Explorer and pulled the keys from the ignition. "And I'll hold onto these until Raylan's coherent again."

"I'm coherent," Givens snapped. "Give me the keys."

Uh-oh.

"Come on, Plum. Let's go get our boy, Dewey."


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

I made the sign of the cross as Givens sped through back roads in complete darkness. He must have been doing close to ninety miles an hour or more and the speed limit was only thirty. My heart was pounding in my chest but there was no way I was going to tell him to slow down. He had a gun and he was in a mood to use it.

This was the side of him that I saw at his father's house. On steroids. His eyes weren't narrowed, they were wild with anger. His hands were white-knuckled as they gripped the steering wheel and he was breathing heavily, like an enraged bull about to charge.

Put simply, this side of Givens scared the crap out of me almost as much as psychotic boxer Benito Ramirez did.

Givens' cell phone rang and he looked down at the screen, then thrust it at me with a grunt. The caller was Tim Gutterson so I answered it.

There was a pause. "How come you're answering Raylan's phone?"

"He's...uh...driving." And probably pissed off beyond being capable of speech. "We're on his way to his mom's house over in something called Indian Line."

"Tom said. He also said Raylan was really ticked off. The house belonged to his aunt, not his mother, and the aunt was murdered by Dickie Bennett but we can't prove he pulled the trigger," Tim explained. "You really think I'm creepy?"

"What?"

"You told Art I was creepy."

I smacked my forehead with the heel of my hand. "Unh! This is what you're worried about? Givens is going Robocop with a side of Terminator thrown in."

Givens turned to glare at me.

"Just hurry," I told Tim. "I have no idea where we're going and I don't know which side to be more afraid of."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

We pulled over at the side of the road and walked slowly towards a cute little 1960s ranch house. It needed some work but it could be fixed up. Lights were on in all the rooms, indicating someone was home. At least that's what I thought until I saw the sign condemning the property on behalf of the Black Pike Mining Corporation. "Uh, Givens..."

"Shhh." He held up a hand and listened. Crickets chirped and there were other woodsy sounds I didn't recognize but no sounds came from the house. We stood there, watching and listening for what seemed like hours. Finally, Givens bent and pulled out his backup gun from his ankle holster, holding it out to me.

"No! No guns," I hissed.

He exhaled sharply, grabbed my wrist and slapped the gun into my palm. End of discussion.

We moved forward, circling the house and looking in all the windows. Even though the lights were on, the place seemed empty. Then we reached the bedroom. A figure was seated in front of a computer. I recognized that big melon head immediately. Dalton Crowe.

"Cover the back," Givens whispered. "If he comes out, stop him."

Because that always worked so well for me in the past. "Uh, Givens -"

"Do it."

Reluctantly, I went around the back and waited.

Then I heard the front door being kicked in followed by an unearthly sound that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Givens. Yelling. And boy, was he pissed. "Dalton Crowe, get out here. Now!"

There was a long pause and then Givens called for me.

I came in, hands shaking. "What?"

"Get in here," he called from the bedroom. "And keep the gun down at your side."

Uh-oh. My heart was pounding in my throat as I made my way into the wood paneled master bedroom. Dalton was still at the computer.

"Stop. Look down. See the trip wire?"

I froze and looked down. "A bomb?"

"That's right. I tripped it and if I move, we're gonna go boom." Givens was unbelievably calm for a guy about to be blown to smithereens. "Step carefully an' go see if Dalton's breathin', okay?"

My heart was in my throat as I tiptoed over to Dalton. Like Luther, he had a nice, neat bullet hole in his head. "He's dead."

"Okay. Now I want you to follow the trip wire an' see if you can find the bomb." Givens kept his voice soft. "Go on, Steph. You can do this."

The wire ran through the room and was connected to the back of the computer. When I looked at the screen, I saw we had less than three minutes left on a timer that was flashing in the upper right hand corner. Not enough time to call the bomb squad but just enough to call Ranger. I leaped over the trip wire and ran back outside, hitting Ranger's number on speed dial, telling Givens I was calling for help.

"Babe."

"I need to defuse a bomb," I told him.

"Life with you is never dull. Describe the bomb."

I described as much as I could and then waited while he thought about it.

Ranger sighed. "There's not enough time to defuse it so you're going to have to put weight on the trip wire. How much does the marshal weigh?"

I ran to the bedroom window and yelled in. "How much do you weigh?"

"Are you serious?" Givens called back.

"Very."

"One forty-two."

"I heard that," Ranger said. "Does he have one leg or two on the wire?"

I peeked in the window. "One. He's also got all kinds of marshal stuff in his pockets and a gun."

"Is there a garbage can in the kitchen?" Ranger asked.

"Yes. One of those plastic ones, maybe two and a half feet tall."

"Take it outside and empty it. Then fill it with dirt, just a little over halfway. Drag it back inside to the trip wire and exchange the garbage can for Givens' leg. You only get one shot so don't screw it up." There was a pause. "You can do this, babe."

Ohmigod.

I ran into the kitchen, dumped the trash and scooped the dirt using the trash can. Then I grabbed a flower pot from the porch and dumped its contents into the trash can. Now that the flower pot was empty I could use it to scoop dirt. When there was enough dirt, I dragged the trash can back inside.

Givens was standing there, perfectly still. "When's the cavalry comin'?"

There were thirty seconds left.

"I'm it. Ranger told me what to do." I positioned the can as close to the wire as I could.

Givens' eyes were wide. "Steph, I like you, you know I do, but this is a _bomb_ -"

"And we have twenty seconds before it goes off." I sucked in air. "On three. Move your leg and I'll move the trash can."

He inhaled sharply. "No, get out of here and I'll do it."

"You can't. You'll change the pressure and you'll go boom. Hurry. We have fifteen seconds."

"Okay. On three," he agreed. "You count."

"One. Two. Three."

I slid the trash can into place and felt Givens' fingers in the collar of my shirt, hauling me to my feet and dragging me to the front door. We cleared the porch and made it a few yards just as the house exploded. Givens tackled me, covering me with his body as we hit the ground hard.

The last thing I saw before I passed out was flaming front door flying off its hinges and practically cutting the Explorer in half before the vehicle burst into flames.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When I came to, Givens was unconscious and still on top of me. I had one leg hooked over his. There was a weird clicking sound and then Tim Gutterson came into view, snapping pictures of the two of us with his cell phone.

"Every emergency crew in the county is on its way," Gutterson told me. He bent down and snapped another picture of Givens, whose face was buried in my neck. "You two lovebirds look so cute."

And he wondered why I said he was creepy.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Givens awoke with a groan and then heaved himself off of me. "Shit."

"Whoa! Stay down," Tim ordered, pushing him back to the ground as he tried to stand. "No moving around until the EMTs get here. Besides, the ammo in the Explorer is going to go up any second." He crouched next to me. "You Jersey girls really know how to party."

I sat up slowly, suddenly aware of a buzzing in my pocket. Ranger, calling to check in on me.

"See?" he said. "I told you that you could do it. How's the marshal?"

"He covered me so he got the worst of it. The Explorer didn't make out so well either." I told him about the front door and the ammo that was about to go boom.

"Babe."

Just then, the ammo went up and the three of us hit the dirt. A hubcap sailed over my head and imbedded itself in a tree trunk with a loud 'thunk'. We all stared at it.

"Shit," Tim complained. "My good rifle was in there! I popped Doyle Bennett with that rifle. I loved that rifle. Damn!"

When I put the phone back to my ear, Ranger was chuckling. "Who's that?"

"Another marshal. Tim Gutterson."

There was a pause. "Tell the marshals Christmas is coming early. I'm sending Hal with a replacement vehicle and stocking it with all their favorite toys. And tell Gutterson I said, Rangers lead the way."

"Okay." No toys for me? Really?

"Are you pouting?"

"I almost got blown up and you think I'm pouting?"

Ranger chuckled, low and sexy. "I'm sending toys for you, too, but your favorite ones are going to have to wait until you're back in Trenton."

Oh boy.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Trooper Tom Bergen cut his eyes to me, to the smoldering remains of the house and then to what was left of the Explorer. The firemen were busy hosing down everything and the pissy female sheriff from Harlan was yelling orders to her men. Givens and I were side by side in an ambulance, having our cuts and burns taken care of. Tim was on the phone, explaining the situation to his boss and probably getting an earful because none of us were where we were supposed to be.

Bergen shook his head and handed Givens his hat. "I found this a little ways up the road. It's dusty but in perfect condition, unlike your car."

"That's Stephanie's car," Givens told him.

"Any chance you might be thinking about leaving this to the professionals and heading back to Jersey?" Trooper Tom asked me.

Tim lowered his cell phone. "Stephanie is a professional, Tom. She's racking up as much damage as Raylan does on one of his cases, without all the training and years of experience he has. I'd say she's a natural."

Trooper Tom rolled his eyes and went over to talk to the sheriff.

Givens shot Tim one of those feral looks but it wasn't as effective with the big butterfly bandage over his eye. He turned to me. "That was good thinking in there."

"Thank Ranger. He talked me through it." I winced as an EMT cleaned a cut on my cheek. "He's sending Hal with another car and he said to you guys Christmas is coming early. Tim, he said something about Rangers leading the way."

Tim cocked his head. "This guy Ranger, is that 'ranger' as in Army?"

"Tim was a sniper for the Rangers," Givens said.

Did Tim and Ranger know each other? "His real name is Ricardo Carlos Manoso."

"Holy shit!" Tim exclaimed. "The guy's a legend. What's your connection to him?"

"He freelances for my cousin and sometimes we work together," I shrugged. I could have mentioned the incredible sex but then I'd have had to kill everyone.

Just then, Hal pulled up in a shiny black Cayenne. He got out and waved to us and then disappeared back into the darkness. It was eerie how he disappeared and I wondered how he was going to get back to civilization without transportation.

Tim went over to inspect the SUV, whistling softly. "He just gives you these, knowing your track record?"

"He thinks it's funny," Givens said, turning to wink at me and whispering, "One more and I win the pool."

Before I could roll my eyes, Tim came bounding over. "Manoso wasn't kidding about Christmas. There's all kinds of gear in the back of that thing. How the heck did he put all that together so fast?"

"He's Ranger," I said.

Givens staggered to his feet. His blazer was torn and dusty and he looked exhausted. Still, he managed to flash me one of those flirty grins and I knew he had an ulterior motive. "Before we go back to face Art, how about we go talk to the Widow Daley? I have the naggin' feeling we missed something."

I had the same feeling.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

We pulled into the driveway of the Daley house but the house looked empty. There were no cars in the driveway and all the lights were off. When we got to the front door, we discovered it was ajar.

Tim drew his gun and was about to go in when Givens grabbed him by the shoulder.

"Careful. We got a killer that likes to blow shit up with booby traps." He turned to me. "Speakin' of blowin' shit up, you have my backup gun?"

I shook my head. "I left it in the house. Sorry."

"Dude, there's like an arsenal in the back of the Cayenne. Pick a new one. Pick four. Just leave me the Sig," Tim whispered. "It's the newest 226."

"Maybe we should come back and do this in daylight," I suggested. One exploding house was enough for me. I was ready for a shower, a beer and crawling under the covers.

Givens turned to me. "That woman and her kids could be in trouble. You sure waiting until daylight is the right thing to do, Junior Marshal Plum?"

Stephanie Plum, Chickenshit Bounty Hunter would gladly have waited for daylight and Navy SEALs instead of going into a pitch-black house that could be booby trapped. Junior Marshal Plum, armed with half a plastic badge meant for a kid, was going to go into that house and try not to run out screaming. "Okay, Senior Marshal Givens. Lead the way."

Tim smirked and nodded in approval at the way I just manipulated Givens.

"Tim, do we have flashlights in our arsenal? The one in my pocket is busted from the explosion."

The younger marshal whistled a tune that vaguely resembled 'Jersey Girl' as he opened the back of the Cayenne and pulled out three flashlights. "Anybody want a gun? There's a whole bunch back here."

"No!" I said.

Givens stared hard at me. "We're goin' to the range, you and me, and you're gonna learn to get comfortable with firearms. I read your file. You're a decent shot under pressure and the life you're livin', you're gonna need to be more than just decent."

He had a point.

"Okay, junior marshals, ready?"

Gulp.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22 

When we visited during the day, the Daley house looked charming and homey. Now, close to midnight, the house was about as charming as the Amityville Horror. It was unoccupied and that was spooky enough. The threat that this house could go boom and the worry that something happened to Daley's cute chubby wife and his two kids had me shaking in my CAT boots. We made our way in slowly and the first thing I noticed was that all the pictures had been taken down. Mrs. Daley hadn't been abducted. She packed and left.

"She left in a hell of a hurry," Givens murmured. "The place looks like it's been tossed."

He shined his flashlight into the living room where we questioned the late Luther Daley and 'tossed' was an understatement. It looked like a hurricane had gone through. Papers and household items were strewn everywhere and the carpet was torn up.

Tim crouched and ran his fingers over the floorboards, looking for the loose ones that covered a hiding place. Finally, he found it and lifted a few boards exposing a hole that was about two feet square. "Something was hidden under here."

"Her emergency fund," I suggested. "We caught Luther screwing Joyce. Probably that wasn't the first time he cheated. Maybe she was plotting her escape for a while. Luther getting killed wasn't that big a tragedy."

"Maybe she was screwing around, too," Tim put in. "Maybe she took off with her boyfriend. Maybe he's Dewey Crowe. That would explain why Luther and Dalton had to die. I'm not sure it explains the shoes. I don't think anything explains the shoes."

"Why would Dewey kill his own father?" I countered.

"Why do any of these criminals do the things they do?" Tim shot back. "Maybe Dalton was banging Mrs. Daley too."

"Ewwww!" I shuddered at the idea of the leather-faced ex-con and the cute chubby woman from the family photos. "That's gross."

Givens cleared his throat. "Steph, why don't you help us an' run a background check on the wife? Start with findin' out her name and go from there."

"Connie won't be in until the morning." I could have asked Ranger for another favor but I was reluctant to owe him too much.

"I'd rather not wait," he said. "If she's runnin', I'd like to try to figure out where she's goin' and who with, if anyone. Can your pal Ranger get that information?"

"Why can't we use one of your resources?" I asked.

Tim chuckled. "Our resource won't be in until tomorrow morning, either, and she'll blab to Art about what we're investigating. Since you're both supposed to be in a safe house and I'm the one who's supposed to be baby-sitting you, you can imagine how well that would go over." He shined his flashlight so that I could see him making puppy-dog eyes. "You wouldn't want us to get in trouble, would you? Or, in Raylan's case, _more_ trouble?"

Givens imitated Tim and hit me with his own version of puppy-dog eyes. With the butterfly bandage over his left eye, it was that much more effective.

I redirected my flashlight so they could see me roll my eyes. "My tab with Ranger for this fiasco is already sky high."

"Aw, c'mon," Tim drawled. "It's not like you're gonna have to pay him back with sex." He squinted at me in the semi-darkness and demonstrated he could read people almost as well as Givens. "Holy crap! No wonder he gives you cars. You must be - "

"Whoa!" Givens cut him off. He turned to me and rested a hand on my shoulder, looking down at me with a serious expression. "Those two li'l boys didn't ask to be part of this. We need to find them before they end up hurt because of whatever shit their mama's involved in."

I didn't much care for kids. In my experience with my sister's kids and other random kids I'd come across, I discovered early on that hamsters were better than kids. Way better. It wasn't the kids that motivated me to reach for my cell phone. It was that Givens, who looked out for me, who taught me so much in just a few days, needed my help. How could I say no to the first person with a badge to ever take me seriously? "I'll go outside and call the team at RangeMan."

"Good idea. We wouldn't want your cell to set off any explosions," Tim said. "Two in one night is enough."

"Amateur," I sniffed. "You'd never make it in the Burg."

Tim smiled. "Is that an invitation to come visit? I think I'd like a Jersey vacation even better than that trip to Cambodia I was planning."

"Why me?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It took less than five minutes to call the RangeMan control room and ask Tank for what I needed. Tank is Ranger's right hand man and six-foot four inches of solid muscle. Even though I didn't even know the widow's first name or have any information other than she was married to Luther Daley, Tank assured me he would be able to find out that and more.

I stepped back inside the house but didn't see either marshal. "Hello?"

"In the bedroom," Givens called. "It's safe in here."

There was a loud snort of laughter from the kitchen.

Givens sighed loudly. "I meant, no booby traps."

I stepped over the mess in the hallway and made my way to the master bedroom. Clothes were strewn all over the floor and the closet looked like it had been ransacked. "Looks like someone couldn't decide what to wear."

He chuckled and then gestured at the haphazard pile in the closet. "She didn't take all her clothes. Winter stuff got left behind. Conclusion, Junior Marshal?

"She's going someplace warm."

"Guesses?" he prompted.

"Mexico? California?" I ventured.

"Florida, maybe, if there's anything to Gutterson's theory about Dewey." He frowned at the mess. "Unfortunately, my search is limited to what's in plain sight. I can't go digging in any of these piles of crap without a warrant."

Ah, he needed the help of someone who wasn't bound by his rules. Ordinarily, this is where Morelli would lecture me about how being here would be considered breaking and entering and any consequent snooping was illegal. It was a good thing Givens wasn't Morelli. I stepped over the pile in the closet and kicked it hard so that clothing flew outwards towards the bedroom floor. "Oh wow, that was really clumsy of me, tripping over that big pile like that."

Givens was grinning like a kid on Christmas. "I'm gonna hate havin' to let you go back to Trenton."

Tim was in the doorway, staring at me, eyes wide. "Why can't we keep her? Think how much easier our jobs would be having our own bounty hunter."

We each crouched to examine the things I'd just kicked from the pile and I noticed something red buried under a particularly hideous Fair Isle sweater. The color of the red thing was a lot like the red soles of those fancy French shoes. "Ah-choo!" I flung the sweater and hit Tim in the face with it. "Sorry. Excuse me."

There was a soft snort of laughter from Givens and then the grin on his face turned into a look of triumph as I pointed to the red thing that I found. It was a felt pouch used to store fancy shoes so they wouldn't get scuffed in their boxes and it bore the name Christian Louboutin. Givens held up a hand. "Don't touch anything else. That's enough for a warrant. Our missing widow is in this up to her eyeballs and I can't wait to find out how."

Neither could I.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23 

"It feels weird leaving him behind like that," I said, as Givens pulled out of the Daley's driveway. Tim volunteered to watch the house until we got a warrant so we left him with a shiny new rifle, a shotgun, a few other guns and a bunch of equipment I didn't recognize. He waved as we left and seemed pretty happy, probably because he was glad finally being rid of us.

"Someone has to secure the scene," Givens explained. "If I called the Harlan sheriff, she'd bust my balls and then cut us out. I understand why she doesn't like me but that doesn't mean I have to keep apologizin' for doing the right thing every time I see her."

Us. I knew I was included in that 'us' and I savored it for a moment. "But she knows the other sheriff was going to turn you over to the mob."

"She does. She also knows they paid him to let drug traffic go through Harlan so all her arguments about what a great job Hunter did are bullshit." He sighed and flexed his shoulders. Even though he wasn't admitting it, Givens was tired. "That makes her a hypocrite and I don't waste my time with hypocrites."

"You work for the government," I reminded him.

"I _try_ not to waste my time with hypocrites," he amended, with a smile. He glanced over at me. "How're you holdin' up? It's been a long day for you. Two dead bodies, you were out cold twice and a house and car exploded. That's a lot."

"Typical day," I shrugged, pretending to be as laconic as he was. And then I started laughing. Ordinarily, this was the point where I would be crying on Morelli's shoulder or carrying Rex's tank into the bedroom because I was too scared to sleep alone but I didn't feel like crying and I wasn't scared. As shitty as my day was, Givens had the same day, right there with me and we were both wired, eager to put the pieces together and solve the case.

Givens grinned at me. "You're feelin' it, huh? We're close to crackin' this thing."

"That's it!" I sat up straight and turned to look at him. "That's why I feel so great. I _never _get to crack the case, except by accident. Morelli always keeps me in the dark if I'm working on something and it's part of an open investigation."

"And _that_," Givens said firmly, "is why you want to be a marshal like me."

"But you're supposed to be tucked away in a safe house right now. Aren't you going to get in trouble?" I asked, remembering my first impression of him as a screw-up.

He sighed. "Probably a little if I don't end up shootin' anybody and probably a whole lot if I do. It's worth it if we stop the killer from killing again and bring in Dewey Crowe, who I'm thinkin' probably needs us to rescue him because he's in over his head."

"So if I became a marshal, I'd probably be in trouble all the time, too."

Givens reached over and squeezed my arm. "From what I saw in those police reports, that'd be nothin' new. Besides, you shoulda seen yourself, wearin' my badge and rackin' that shotgun at Joyce. You looked more confident than I've seen you since we met. It was like that badge gave you superpowers."

Ohmigod. He knew. "Is that how you feel?"

Drawing a deep breath, Givens went quiet as he considered the question and how to answer. "I don't feel like Superman, if that's what you mean."

"Maybe Green Lantern," I suggested. "A regular guy until you put on your power ring and then you can do anything?"

"Green Lantern. I like that." His lips curved into a smile and his eyes sparkled. "They were inter-galactic lawmen, those Green Lanterns." Glancing over at me, he added with a slightly shy grin, "I used to read the comics when I was a kid."

"I wanted to be Wonder Woman," I confessed. "I still kind of do."

"Nothin' wrong with that."

"Do you like hamsters?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Ordinarily, I'd just call and request the warrant over the phone," Givens said, breaking the companionable silence that had settled after he told me he thought hamsters were just fine and that he liked the name Rex. "I want Art backin' us on this one, so we're gonna fill him in and then get the warrant."

I squinted out at the darkness and I still no idea where we were. "And you trust Tim to hold off the locals while you do it."

"The sheriff has no reason to think Mrs. Daley's anythin' other than a grievin' widow so it's not likely she'd ask anybody to investigate." He shrugged. "If she does, well, she'll have to deal with Tim and as you probably noticed, he can be a real pain in the ass."

I laughed and then decided to ask where we were going. It wasn't that I didn't trust Givens but it seemed a little strange. "So we're going all the way back to Lexington and then all the way back to Harlan?"

"No, we're going into town where there's reliable cell phone reception." Givens winked at me. "Like you told Morelli, reception's spotty in these hollers."

As if to prove the fact, my cell phone started pinging, telling me I had a bunch of messages. I dug the phone out of my bag to find I had eleven of them. The first message was from my Grandma Mazur, telling me how much fun she had being arrested and how disappointed she was Carl Costanza and his partner, Big Dog, didn't frisk her.

The second was from Morelli. "I heard there was an explosion. Are you okay? Call me."

The third message was also from Morelli. "I'm getting worried. Call me."

And so was the fourth. "Call me."

I stopped listening to my messages and punched in his number. He picked up before I even heard the phone ring.

"Thank God," Morelli sighed. "I was worried. The LPD didn't have any information and Givens wasn't answering his phone -"

"We were in Harlan, not Lexington," I explained. "LPD wouldn't know anything about what's going on in Harlan."

"Are you okay?"

"We're fine. Both of us" I caught Givens looking at me and he flashed me a quick thumbs up. "I'll tell you about it later."

Morelli went silent and when he spoke next, there was a note of suspicion in his voice. I supposed I shouldn't have been enjoying jealous Morelli as much as I was. "Why can't you talk now?"

"Because we're really close to solving this thing -"

"Hold up. You're a bounty hunter, not a cop. You're not supposed to solve things," Morelli said. "Is that why you're breathy again?"

I rolled my eyes. "I'm not breathy and I'm thinking of quitting this bounty hunter bullshit."

"Really? That's great, cupcake! The bakery is hiring -"

"Who said anything about working in a bakery? I'm thinking of joining the marshals. Givens thinks I have a real shot." I glanced over at Givens, who was smiling proudly and giving me another thumbs-up. "How come you never told me how great it is to be a cop?"

Morelli went silent again and I could hear him breathing heavily, trying to reign in his temper. I counted down from five and waited for the third explosion of the night. "I never told you how great it is to be a cop because being a cop sucks most of the time. When I worked Vice, all I saw was the shit people did to each other to get high. In Homicide, all I see is the shit people do to each other for some of the dumbest reasons imaginable. You don't want to be a cop."

"You're right," I agreed and heard him exhale in relief. Poor guy. "I want to be a marshal. I'd be hunting fugitives, just like I do now, except for a steady paycheck and a pension. And health insurance. And did you know they _give_ you cars? Besides, marshals do other stuff, too. It's a really cool job. A lot cooler than working at Tasty Pastry."

"You're impossible!" Morelli exclaimed. "And you're breathy!"

Then he hung up.

"That went well," Givens chuckled. "Did he really think you'd be happy workin' in a bakery?"

"Everyone thinks I'd be happier doing something else," I admitted. "I do, too, sometimes."

We pulled into the parking lot of the Huddle House, which was the only business that was open at this hour. Givens turned to face me. "I haven't known you real long but I know you well enough to know you ain't gonna be happy doin' anything else. Pin a badge on you and you'll never doubt becomin' a marshal was the best choice you ever made."

"You really think so?" I asked him.

"I'm sure of it." He unclipped the badge from his belt. "Here put this on and then look in the mirror."

I clipped the badge to the waistband of my jeans and turned down the sun visor to look at my reflection in the vanity mirror. "Yikes! Why didn't you tell me my hair was this scary?"

Givens sighed and dropped his hat on my head. It was way too big and looked more than a little stupid until he adjusted it, tilting it back so it didn't cover half my face.

I narrowed my eyes and imitated his mean expression again and I practically scared myself. "Holy crap!"

"Exactly." He took his hat back and plucked the badge off of me. "You're not confident as a bounty hunter because you have no legal authority. A badge makes all the difference. Don't believe Morelli, either. Maybe his job sucks but bein' a marshal doesn't."

Oh shit. "You heard that?"

"Yeah." Givens smirked at me again. "You're a little breathy, on account of you're all excited about the case an' also you have a big ol' crush on me. I don't mind either, so go on and be breathy."

I rolled my eyes. "Mind if I listen to the rest of my messages before you call Art?"

"I'm hopin' your granny called again. She sounds like a lot of fun." He settled back in his seat and motioned for me to go ahead.

The next message was nothing but silence, so I erased it. So were the next two. I started having a bad feeling. My eighth message made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I paused it, put the message on speaker and played it from the beginning so Givens could hear it.

"Stephanie? It's Ellen May." She sounded like she was crying and scared. Her voice kept breaking and it sounded a little muffled. "Are you there? I need to talk to you. About Dewey."

My next message was silence and this time, I let it play to the end. There was a soft scuffing noise in the background.

Givens took the phone from me and played the next message. It was Ellen May again and she sounded calmer but still teary. "Stephanie, if you're there, I need to talk. Come meet me an' please don't bring your boyfriend. He scares me."

Ellen May rattled off some directions to another Bennett drying shed.

I nearly jumped out of my seat when we played the next message. It was my mother. "We're worried and Rex misses you. Oh, and Valerie's pregnant again. Call us."

"Valerie's my sister," I explained. "She's perfect."

"Would she know that call from Ellen May is a trap, the way you did?" Givens asked. "Don't deny it. I watched you and the second she said not to bring me, I saw you react. Always trust your instincts."

"I have a huge crush on you," I told him.

"Understandable and I've got me a li'l crush on you, too," Givens said, flashing that killer smile at me. "Tell you what, let's go rescue Ellen May and then we can make cow eyes at each other for a little while after we crack the case. It can't ever go further than cow eyes, though. I love Winona and you love Morelli."

"What about Art?" I asked, trying not to think about the cow eyes. "Didn't you want to call him?"

"I'll call him from the road an' if some of the conversation gets lost, well, he'll have less to yell at me about." Givens pulled out of the parking lot and hit the gas. "You ready to level some of that Green Lantern's might on somebody's ass?"

Boy, was I ever.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

"What's the plan?" Tim asked. Even though he seemed perfectly happy to be left babysitting the Daley house earlier, Tim was even happier to be included now that we had a crisis that needed to be handled.

We were sitting in the Daley's living room, going over what we knew. My first impulse was to go to the drying shed immediately to save Ellen May but Givens wanted to have a plan. Since I never had plans or plans that actually worked, and everything Givens taught me so far was worth its weight in gold, I deferred to his judgement.

He drew a rough sketch of a drying shed on the back of a poster of Justin Bieber that been hanging in the boys' bedroom and we all gathered around, studying it. There was one door and the entire structure was made of wood, neither of which was very reassuring since our killer liked using explosives.

Givens tapped his pen on the drawing and his eyes narrowed in concentration. "Looks like our killer is tying up loose ends before leaving town."

"I don't get how May Ellen is a loose end," I said. "She boinked Dewey and got shoes but she didn't seem like she knew anything."

"Ellen May," Givens corrected me with a smile. "She may not realize she knows something or the killer is using her as bait to draw you in."

"Me? Why me? Why not you? You're the marshal."

Tim grinned. "Because he's a marshal. Killing Raylan would bring down all kinds of federal heat. Killing you? Not so much."

"It would help if we had that background check on Mrs. Daley," Givens said. "We don't even know her name or how she got so proficient with explosives. We don't even know for sure she's the one doin' the killing. We've got too many questions and a woman needin' saving."

"I just can't imagine that smiling chubby woman in those photos as a cold-blooded killer," I said. "What I _can_ imagine is that she knows something and was fleeing town before the killer catches up to her."

"Okay, Junior Marshal Plum, keep going with that idea." Givens rubbed his chin and his eyes met mine. "Think it through and see where it takes you." He glanced over at Tim and Tim nodded. I got the feeling maybe they already reached this conclusion and I was the slow one in the class.

"She took her children."

Givens nodded. "And?"

"If she was planning on getting rid of May - uh, Ellen May - why would she bring them? Our killer is a planner and this..." I gestured to the debris around us. "It looks impulsive."

He smiled proudly. "That was very good. I agree. Tim?"

"Me too, but that leaves Dewey Crowe as your criminal mastermind and the guy's got the IQ of a potato." Tim sighed. "Also, he was driving the first vehicle that got blown up and while I could buy that he did it accidentally, it doesn't feel right."

"Aren't we putting Ellen May in more danger while we sit here?" I asked.

"What do you think?" Givens asked me. "Think about it like you're someone who has to plan things down to the last detail."

Ohmigod. He was such a genius!

"Cow eyes, Plum," he chided, with a grin. "Let our perp stew a bit. Maybe get frustrated and maybe get a little sloppy. Then we send you in hot."

"What?" Now I was lost.

"Tim, did our pal Ranger give us the tools we need to pull this off?" Givens asked, ignoring my question.

Tim grinned, his eyes gleaming. "He sure did."

"Hello?" I waved my hand in front of Givens' face. "What do you mean, send me in hot?"

He caught my hand in his and squeezed. "We send you in wearing a wire."

"But -"

"The killer wants to see you die. You managed to escape every other trap," Givens said, still holding onto my hand. "I'm figuring there won't be a bomb this time. Our killer's gonna be waiting with a loaded gun to finish you off personally."

Ohmigod. I started to hyperventilate.

"Breathe," Tim intoned. "Being unconscious twice in one night is pushing it. Three times makes you a wuss and I won't write you that letter of recommendation when you apply to be a marshal."

Givens released my hand, bent and took off his ankle holster, holding it out to me. "The perp's gonna want to disarm you so you're goin' in with a gun. Let 'em think their plan is workin' out after all. You go in, get 'em talkin' and Tim and I'll come to your rescue."

"But what if they shoot me?" I asked, struggling to strap on the ankle holster. I'd never worn one before and while I knew where it was supposed to go in theory, it felt completely uncomfortable.

"You really think Manoso wouldn't pack bullet proof vests along with all the other goodies he sent?" Tim asked. "As long as you don't get shot in the head, neck, arms or legs, you'll be fine. Personally, I wouldn't go for your head. Too much hair, might stop the bullet."

"Let me do that." Givens kneeled in front of me, rolled up the leg of my jeans and adjusted the holster. "It'll feel a little weird havin' the extra weight on your leg but you'll – hey!" He whirled around, glaring at Tim.

Tim had his cell phone out and I was pretty sure from the clicking sound that he'd just snapped a picture of Givens putting the ankle holster on me.

"What the hell are you doing?" Givens asked him.

"Memorializing Junior Marshal Plum's adventure in Harlan County. Who doesn't want vacation photos when they're having such a great time?" Tim asked innocently.

Givens rolled his eyes and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'asshole.' "Make yourself useful and get the stuff we need from the Cayenne."

"Oh sure," Tim drawled, "I'll let you two have your privacy."

This time, Givens and I both said it. "Asshole."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Are you ready?" Givens asked me.

I wanted to say no. I wanted to tell him to turn the car around and not to stop driving until we crossed the Jersey Turnpike into Trenton and parked in my building's parking lot and I was hiding under my covers. Instead, I said, "Sure."

"We're gonna be right out here," he said, reaching over and squeezing my shoulder, "listenin' to every word. Just keep him talkin' and keep his attention from the door. Do it just like we planned. You're gonna be fine, Junior Marshal Plum."

"You've got nothing to worry about," Tim added. "Except for explosives. Raylan's been wrong before."

I sucked in a breath.

Exhaling in frustration, Givens unclipped his badge and handed it to me. "Wear this for luck, not that you'll need it."

I clipped the badge to the waistband of my jeans and zipped up the windbreaker over the bulky bullet-proof vest. We'd tested the microphone I was wearing four times already. I was carrying a gun in the pocket of the windbreaker and another in the ankle holster. There was a pair of handcuffs in my other pocket, along with my pepper spray. If you didn't notice my chattering teeth or shaking hands, I looked like the badass bounty hunter I always wanted to be.

Cutting my eyes to the drying shed, I drew a deep, steadying breath. I had two armed, experienced US Marshals watching my back. I could do this.

"Aren't you gonna give her a kiss for luck?" Tim asked Givens. "Might be your last chance if there's some kinda bomb in there or the killer opens fire the second she clears the threshold. You'll kick yourself for years afterwards, thinking about that missed opportunity. Heck, you want five minutes to go for the gold, I can -"

"Tim." One word. One small syllable. And it conveyed every kind of warning known to man. Givens gave him a long look. "I last a _lot_ longer than five minutes."

Ohmigod.

Givens leaned over and kissed my cheek. "Go on now. He probably heard us drive up and he's waiting on you."

I got out of the Cayenne and shined my flashlight into the darkness as I made my way up the path to the drying shed. There was a white Chevy Traverse parked next to the shed that made me feel a little better about the odds of me being blown up. If the shed was rigged to blow, that shiny, new SUV would be blown up too or damaged by the debris. Since our killler liked to plan things down to the last detail, it was a good bet that the killer didn't plan on ruining the only means of his escape.

The door to the drying shed was open and I peered inside with only the light from my flashlight as I announced, "I'm here."


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 26

"Well, it's about time!" Yvette, the secretary to Frankfort Kentucky's version of Satan, waved her gun at me, motioning for me to come inside and go to my left. A small camping lantern dimly lit the interior of the shed and cast long shadows, making it seem even more ominous. "Stand over there."

I stared at her, stunned. _This_ was the person behind the Red Soled Shoe Murders? I glanced over to where she wanted me and saw Ellen May and Dewey, both gagged and tied to metal folding chairs. A third chair was next to them, probably for me. As I took a few hesitant steps, I wondered if Givens had guessed who our criminal mastermind was. I had a feeling he was as surprised as me.

"Hurry up," Yvette snapped. She was dressed in a black turtleneck sweater that looked like cashmere, a pair of expensive-looking black wool pants and a pair of sky-high black patent heels that I was sure had red soles. "Stop. Very slowly, take out your gun and lay it on the floor. Then kick it to me."

Pulling the gun from my jacket, I bent, set it down and kicked it towards her. Hard. It hit her foot with a satisfying whump.

"Ow! You bitch! That hurt!" Yvette's eyes narrowed at me. "And you scuffed my shoe. You're going to pay for that, Stephanie Plum!"

Although I couldn't hear them, I was pretty sure Givens and Tim were snickering over that one. "We were never introduced –"

"So? You think I don't know what goes on in Emmitt's office? _He_ thinks I don't know. Everybody thinks I'm stupid because I'm blonde and I'm pretty. Newsflash," she bared her teeth at me in a cruel smile with her perfect white teeth that looked jarring against her shiny lip gloss. "I graduated magna cum laude from Cornell. I'm smarter than all of you put together."

Getting her to start talking like Givens wanted me to do wasn't that hard. The hard part was going to be getting her to shut up long enough to give my cavalry their cue to come to my rescue. No, wait. What would Givens do? For one thing, Givens wouldn't let Yvette control the conversation. He might let her _think_ she was in control and then he'd pull the rug out from under her. The first thing he would do would be to find her weak spot and exploit it. There was no doubt in my mind that Yvette's weak spot was her ego. "Yeah, you're a regular a criminal mastermind, dealing shoes. I'm sure the _real _dealers like that Crowder guy in Harlan are quaking in their Timberlands over what a threat you are to the Kentucky underworld."

"Boyd Crowder is a dinosaur, just like Emmitt," Yvette snorted derisively. "I'm dealing in something even _more_ addictive than stupid weed and Oxy. Luxury goods are the new crack, Stephanie. And people will pay double or even triple to get them. I tried telling Emmitt that when Dewey came to us with a _truckload_ of Loubies that his daddy hijacked on its way to a bunch of Neiman Marcus stores in Florida. Emmitt, that short-sighted fool, didn't see the value in women's shoes. I tried to explain it to him. Know what he said to me?"

"He preferred handbags?"

She rolled her eyes. "I wouldn't expect you to understand. Look how you're dressed for God's sake. What are those ugly things you're wearing on your feet?"

Those ugly things were steel-toed CAT boots, suitable for kicking doors down, stomping really big bugs or kicking the asses of secretaries who thought they were criminal masterminds. "Those are bounty hunter boots. Look, I'm here for Dewey and I personally don't give a crap about your little shoe scheme –"

"Neither does that idiot, Emmitt. He cares about nooners and blow jobs and parading me around like some trophy," Yvette snapped. "I asked him, why sell a lousy ten dollar bag of weed on a street corner when you can unload a seven-hundred dollar pair of shoes on eBay for over a thousand to some desperate wanna-be who'll pay you a premium to ship them? And it's _legal_! There's no law against dealing shoes."

"Um, I'm pretty sure there's a law against dealing stolen shoes," I said. She was getting really worked up but not distracted enough for Givens to make his entrance. "And there are laws against kidnapping and murder."

Yvette smiled coldly. "Prove it. Prove I murdered anybody."

Suddenly, everything clicked into place. "If you were selling the shoes on eBay, you needed to open accounts that couldn't be traced back to you. That's where the fake credit cards came in, except you put them all in Dewey's name, framing him."

"Mmmmffffffmmmm!" Dewey nodded vigorously in agreement.

"You got the Social Security numbers from the Harlan County Clerk's office." I took a leap and went with my gut, just like Givens said I should do. "Luther's wife was your source, wasn't she?"

Yvette nodded. "I met her in a shoe forum on Internet. We became friendly and it was easy getting her to give me what I needed. All I had to do was give her one pair of Loubies and she was hooked. She couldn't get enough of them so convincing her to part with the Social Security numbers of the recently deceased was easy. And it didn't cost me anything except a couple of pairs of size sixes. You and that marshal started snooping around and you made her nervous so I sent Dalton to keep an eye on her. That old fool went and hooked up with some fat waitress and started giving her my shoes."

That explained why Dalton was killed. And where Shirlene got her shoes. "Luther came to tell me about his wife."

"Dena warned me he was on his way. Your visit to him got him asking where she was getting the money to support her shoe habit and then he got pissed that I was paying her in shoes instead of cash. They had a fight and he decided to spill the beans to you." Yvette heaved a sigh. "You wrecked a perfectly good plan, Stephanie. I hope you're happy."

"Why is this my fault?" I shot back. "I'm not the one dealing in stolen shoes and killing people."

"If you hadn't come around looking for Dewey and getting Raylan Givens involved, none of this would've happened. Everybody knows Raylan's like a pitbull. Once he gets his jaws on something, you have to shoot him to make him let go." She smiled coldly. "It'll be real easy to shoot him when he's distracted by your dead body."

I stared hard at her, imitating Givens' feral look as I took a couple of steps further into the shed. "If you're planning on shooting a US Marshal, you really are a dumb blonde."

"Idiot, that was a metaphor. I'm going to booby trap this shed and blow him to smithereens when he comes looking for you." She flipped her hair back over her shoulder, still glamorous as she pointed her semi-automatic at me. "You'd be surprised how much you can learn about explosives on the Internet and how easy they are to get in this backwater shithole. Best of all, the cops will think Boyd Crowder did it."

Time to take control of the conversation and shake her up. "Boyd Crowder isn't stupid enough to blow up a US marshal, Yvette. It's a stupid plan, just like your stupid plan to sell shoes. What are you going to do when your supply of shoes runs out? You killed your truck hijacker. Have you made enough from your little scheme to leave the country where they can't extradite you? And is that far enough away where Emmitt won't find you? Sooner or later, they'll know it was you and they'll trace it to him. Nobody'll believe he wasn't involved and he's going to come after you for messing up his reputation as a professional. Also for not giving him his cut."

Yvette was staring at me, completely stupefied. She started to speak but I cut her off.

"The only way Emmitt isn't going to kill you is if you cooperate. You said it yourself. You know what went on in his office. That might be enough to keep you out of prison." The words were coming out my mouth as if I'd been saying them forever. It had to be Givens' badge. The badge was giving me super powers. "Put the gun down and get on your knees, hands behind your head."

We stared at each other in the dim lighting and it occurred to me that Givens could have burst in at any time. He was letting me handle it. He trusted me. Either that or the microphone wasn't working.

Yvette bent down and set her gun on the floor.

I reached into my pocket for the handcuffs and closed the distance between us.

WHAM! She punched me in the face and I saw stars. "You really thought it was going to be that easy, Stephanie?"

This was what I got for being an optimist. A big, black eye. My jaw clenched and I hissed, "I'm from Jersey."

"So?" Yvette asked snottily.

"So I'm going to kick your ass up and down this shed. You fight like some stupid farm girl. You wanna learn to fight, grow up in Trenton with Joyce Barnhardt." With that, I launched myself at her and we went down, hitting the wooden floor with a crash. She scratched and slapped but I fought like an animal, punching and kicking. I'd been in too many scary situations since becoming a bounty hunter and while I was never going to be as good a fighter as Ranger, I could definitely take a bimbo like Yvette. I had her pinned and was punching her in the face when I was grabbed from behind.

"Whoa, that's enough," Givens said. "I think you mighta broke her nose."

"Good," I told him. I reached down and handed him back his badge. "You can read Yvette her rights now."

His mouth curved into a smile and for just a second, he made cow eyes at me. Then he turned to Yvette. "You're under arrest."

I crossed the shed and untied Ellen May, who was passed out and then took the gag off of Dewey.

"Ain't you gonna untie me?" he asked.

"You missed your court date in Collier County. Will you come with me to reschedule?"

Dewey nodded. "You saved my life. It's the least I can do."

I untied him and he got to his feet. Then he punched me, knocking me back on my ass.

"Sorry, lady!" he called over his shoulder. "I had my fingers crossed."

He disappeared out the door, ignoring Givens' angry shout to stop.

I scrambled to my feet and got to the door in time to see Dewey pull open the door of the Chevy. Tim ordered him to freeze. Dewey said something but I couldn't make out what it was.

The next thing I knew, there was a huge fireball and it was raining shoes.

Then I passed out.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

I opened my eyes and found myself looking up at Givens. My head was throbbing and it took a minute before I realized I was leaning against him. We were sitting on the ground, in front of the Cayenne, and his arm was wrapped tightly around me. Shoes lay everywhere, like fallen soldiers on a battlefield. Some lost their heels, others were charred beyond recognition. It was horrifying.

He held up a leopard print pony hair platform bootie with a five-inch heel. "You got hit in the head with this. Must be a quality piece of footwear because it knocked you right out."

I took the bootie from his hand and turned it over to discover it was exactly my size. And it was sexy as hell. "You didn't see the other one fly past, did you?"

"We've got another five minutes or so before Nick Mooney and his boys show up," Givens said with a smile. "Think that's enough time to find it?"

"Maybe."

"I'd help but those shoes are evidence and I can't tamper with evidence." His eyes were sparkling in the darkness as he looked at me. "I guess if you're thinkin' about findin' the other half of the pair, you probably don't have a concussion."

"Probably," I agreed.

He let go of me and helped me to my feet. "You did a real good job in there, gettin' Yvette to confess like that. I'm proud of you, Junior Marshal Plum."

I gazed past him to see Yvette and Dewey kneeling on the ground in handcuffs, Tim watching over them. Ellen May was still passed out. I turned back to Givens. "You're the first person who ever told me I did a good job. Everyone else tells me I should quit."

"They're right about quittin' bein' a bounty hunter. You're a marshal, Stephanie." Givens squeezed my shoulder and then spun me to my right, pointing. "That other boot might be right over there. I'm gonna make a call to Tom, see if he found Dena Daley yet. If I'm wrong about that boot...well, hey, like Tim said, I make mistakes every now and again."

Somehow, I doubted it. But if he did, he always ended up saving the day.

Givens was a superhero. It was his job.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Epilogue 1 (Raylan's Interlude)

It was nearly six in the morning when I let myself into the motel room. Winona rolled over and looked at me as I perched on the edge of the bed to take off my boots, blinking sleepily. She reached over and turned on the lamp.

"Oh my God, Raylan!" Winona sat up and took my face in her hand, staring in horror at the butterfly bandage over my eye. "Does the bad guy look as bad as you do?"

"Bad girl," I corrected her. "And yes, she does. Stephanie broke her nose."

Winona frowned at the mention of Stephanie's name.

"I like her," I said, determined to put an end to the jealousy I caused the other day. "If I had a kid sister, I imagine she'd be a lot like Stephanie."

That got a smile. Even though this was Kentucky, having romantic feelings for your sister was just plain nasty. "Was your bad girl from Harlan?"

"Frankfort, actually. She was usin' people from Harlan and Bennett to run her shoe dealin' operation. It wasn't the big money laundering ring I expected, just some wanna be tryin' to make a name for herself as a player and screwin' up big time," I explained.

Winona gently touched my bandage. "How'd this happen?"

"Not worth going into now." I could have told her about what happened to Helen's house but I was dead tired and now that I had a moment to think about it, I ached all over. "Justice is served. Stephanie got her man and the case of the Red Soled Shoe Murders has been solved."

"Any size sevens happen to follow you home?" Winona asked, with a grin.

I tapped her on the nose with my index finger. "Did you forget what happened the last time evidence followed one of us home?"

She sank back onto the pillow with a sigh. "I guess I'll go barefoot then. Barefoot and pregnant. Great combination, huh?"

"Just barefoot?" I asked, bending over to kiss her. I lifted the sheets and peeked at her. She was pregnant but she wasn't showing yet. Well, her breasts were maybe a little bigger and I sure didn't mind that. Suddenly, I wasn't quite as tired as I thought.

"You smell like smoke," Winona murmured, running her hand through my hair.

I kissed her again. "You know what they say. Where there's smoke-"

She reached down, gripping me through my jeans. "There's firewood?"

"Funny." I stripped in record time, tossing my clothes across the room. "Doesn't seem fair, me all bare-naked and you in my shirt."

"You wanna keep your boots on, Cowboy?" she teased.

"I've got a better idea." I reached under the bed and showed her the sexy black peep toe pumps Stephanie picked from the shoe-valanche at the drying shed. She gave them to me on our drive back, after we left Mooney and his men to count all the shoes. I considered scolding her for screwing with the crime scene but it was only a pair of shoes and it wasn't like they could be traced. "How about you wear these? An' nothin' else?"

"Now you're talkin'."

I lasted a _lot _longer than five minutes.

Epilogue 2

Givens' Town Car was parked next to the Cayenne and it looked like it just came from the factory. He circled the car and whistled appreciatively before loading the gear from the Cayenne into the back of the Lincoln.

Tim handed me the body receipt for Dewey. "You'll be back to testify at Yvette's trial, right?"

"Absolutely," I told him.

He held out a large package wrapped in Wonder Woman gift wrap. "Got you a little going away present."

Givens came up beside me and raised an eyebrow. "Looks like Tim might have a li'l crush on you, too."

"Hell yeah," Tim said. "Any woman that can survive that many explosions is my kind of girl."

"Speakin' of explosions," Givens told me, "I won Gazarra's pool. He owes me five hundred bucks."

I unwrapped the package. It was a scrapbook, bearing the title, Stephanie Plum Visits Kentucky and We All Survived. The first page was a copy of Dewey Crowe's mug shot, followed by his FTA and a copy of the warrant. There were crime scene photos of the first Cayenne, the Explorer and Givens' aunt's house. I turned the page to see a photo of Givens lying on top of me and me unconscious under him. Givens' face was buried in my neck. One of my legs was hooked around him and my arm was draped across his back. My mouth was hanging open in the photo and if we weren't fully clothed, it looked like we just did the deed.

"I've shot people I liked more for less," Givens told Tim, eyes narrowing.

Tim grinned at him. "So have I."

I flipped the page, hoping there weren't any more nasty surprises. The next photo was Givens kneeling in front of me, adjusting the ankle holster. It looked like he was proposing.

"Keep going," Tim said.

There was a mug shot of Yvette and a crime scene photo of the shoes. Then there was a picture of me, slumped against Givens. His arm was around me and his head was bent towards me, face intimately close to mine.

"My army shrink suggested I take up a hobby like scrapbooking to help readjust to civilian life," Tim told me. "I think I have a real knack for it, don't you?"

Unh! Mental head slap.

I turned to Givens, looking up at him. "Thanks for everything, Givens."

"You sure you don't wanna join me on my road trip to Florida, transportin' Dewey Crowe?" he asked.

"Tempting," I told him. "But my hamster misses me."

"What about Morelli?"

"Maybe."

"He'd better miss you - bad - or you need to dump his ass," Givens said. "I'm gonna call you the second they lift that hirin' freeze. You don't apply, I'm gonna be real disappointed in you."

"I will."

We stared at each other for a moment and then he pulled me to him and hugged me. "I'm gonna miss you, Stephanie Plum."

I heard the click of Tim's cell phone camera behind us.

"You're a dead man, Gutterson," Givens said.

_The end._

Preview of Stephanie's next adventure with Raylan.

"Joe Morelli, this is Raylan Givens," I said, wondering just how south things were going to go once I let the boys get a word in edgewise.

Morelli smiled a phony smile, all teeth and no sincerity. "Raylan? Oh, you're Raylan the hamster's daddy."

My father grunted and reached for more mashed potatoes and I saw my mother quietly slip into the kitchen. I had a feeling she was going to the cabinet where she hid her bottle of cooking sherry before she brought out dessert.

Givens returned the smile and turned to me. "You named a hamster for me?"

Uh-oh. "Well..."

"That's really sweet," he drawled and then leaned over to kiss my cheek. The phony smile was fixed in place as he turned back to Morelli and said, "I guess you're the other hamster's daddy. Rex must be your nickname, huh?"

Great. Two cops who knew exactly how to push each other's buttons. I figured I had less than five minutes or one more insult before it came to blows. Of course, once they beat the snot out of each other, they'd have a beer and decide they liked each other more than they liked me and I'd spend tonight watching TV with the hamsters.

The Contest.

Submit your suggestions for the title of the sequel to Plum Justified in your review or by a message to me. The winner will have his or her screen name used in the story.

Thanks for reading!


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